
THE 

A.R MORRIS 
MEMORIAL LIB 





THE POEMS-.-"? -rU^i■/;^ 



OP 



ROBERT GREENE, 



t k 



CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE 



AND 



BEN JONSON. 



EDITED, WITH CRITICAL AND HISTORICAL NOTES. AND SEPAEAT? 
MEMOIRS OF THE THREE WRITESS, 

BY 

EOBEET BELL. 



NEW YORK 
HURST & COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



• • •* •* 1 

' . 4 • • • o 



53'^ 



3(^3aC!» 



P^2 







CONTENTS. 



ROBERT GREENE. 
Memoir 



PAGE 



The Description of Silvestro's Lady 21 

Lacena's Riddle 22 

Verses under the Picture of Fortune 22 

Apollo's Oracle 22 

Menaphon's Song 23 

Sephestia's Song to her Child 24 

Menaphon's Roundelay 25 

Doron's Description of Samela 26 

Doron's Jig 26 

Melieertus's Description of his Mistress , 27 

Melicertus's Madrigal 28 

Menaphon's Song in his Bed 29 

Song 30 

Menaphon's Eclogue 30 

Melicertus's Eclogue 33 

Doron's Eclogue 35 

Sonnetto 37 

Madrigal , , 37 

Ditty , . . , 38 

Sonnet 39 

Sonnet 40 

Sonnet 40 

Sonnet 41 

The Praise of Fawnia 42 

Bellaria's Epitaph '. 43 

An Ode 43 

The Palmer's Ode , 44 

The Hermit's Verses , 45 

Isabel's Ode 46 



660935 



iv CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Francesco's Ode 48 

Canzone 49 

lufida's Song 51 

Francesco's Koundelay 52 

The Penitent Palmer's Ode 53 

Isabel's Sonnet made in Prison 54 

Francesco's Sonnet made in Penance 55 

Francesco's Sonnet on Parting 56 

Eurymachus's Fancy in the Prime of his Affection 57 

Radagon's Sonnet CO 

Eurymachus in Laudem Mirimidge 61 

Radagon in Dianam 63 

Mulidor's Madrigal 65 

The Palmer's Verses 65 

The Description of the Shepherd and his Wife 69 

The Shepherd's Wife's Song 71 

Hexametra Alexis in Laudem Rosamnndse 72 

Hexametra Rosamundse in Dolorem Amissi Alexis 73 

Philador's Ode that he left with the Despairing Lover 75 

The Song of a Country Swain at the Return of Philador 77 

Description of the Lady Msesia ..,., 80 

Song 81 

Lines Translated from Guazzo 81 

From Dante 82 

Lamilia's Song 83 

Verses against Enticing Courtesans 83 

Verses 84 

A Conceited Fable of the Old Comedian ^sop 85 

Verses 86 

Verses 87 

Song 87 

Roundelay 88 

Lentullus's Description of Terentia in Latin 89 

Thus in English . . , 89 

The Shepherd's Ode 89 

Philomela's Ode that she sung in her Arbor 92 

Philomela's Second Ode ^3 

Sonnet -'5 

Answer ^•> 

An Ode 86 



CONTENTS. V 

PAOB 

Verses against the Gentlewomen of Sieilia 97 

Orpheus's Song ^ • • 98 

The Song of Arion 99 

Sonnet 100 

Sonnet from Ariosto 100 

Barmenissa's Song 101 

Verses 102 

Song 102 

Song , 103 

Verses written under a Picture of Venus 10-1 

Verses written under a Picture of a Peacock 104 

Verses wi'itten under a Carving of Mercury throwing feath- 
ers unto the wind 105 

Verses written under a Carving of Cupid blowing bladders 

in the air 105 

Verses wi'itten on two Tables at a Tomb lOG 

Madrigal 106 

Fragments quoted in "England's Parnassus" 107 

A Maiden's Dream 108 



CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 
Memoir 119 

Hero and Leander 132 

The Passionate Shepherd 199 

Fragment 203 

Dialogue in Verse 203 

The First Book of Luean .208 



BEX JOXSON. 
Memoir = . 229 

Epigrams 247 

The Forest 298 

Underwoods 321 




ROBERT GREENE. 

1560—1592. 



Robert Greene was boru at Norwich in 1560 ; or, as sonie of 
his biographers state, 1550, which is scarcely reconcilable with 
the probable date of his matriculation at the University. We 
learu upon his own authority that his parents were persons well 
known and respected amongst their neighbors for ''their gravity 
and honest life"; and it may be presumed that they were in good 
circumstances, as they not only placed their son at Cambridge, 
where he took his degree of A.B. at St. John's College in 1578, 
but afterwards sent him to travel through Spain and Italy and 
other parts of the continent, — a costly undertaking in the six- 
teenth century. The grand tour, fruitful of advantages to those 
who knew how to profit by it, w^as productive only of evil to 
Greene; for it is certain that he l)rought back with him from his 
foreign experiences those habits of profligacy which corrupted 
the remainder of his life. "At that time," he tells us. "who- 
soever was worst, I knew myself as bad as he ; for being new 
come from Italy (where I learned all the villanies under the 
heavens), I was drowned in pride, whoredom was my daily ex- 
ercise, and gluttony with drunkenness was my only delight." * 
Tliis is a miserable opening to the life of a man of genius; and, 
unfortunately, the rest of the scanty narrative is of the same 
character. 

According to his own account of this part of his career, Greene 
seems to have gone back to the University on his return from 
his travels, and to have remained there till he took his degree 
of A.M.; after wiiich he repaired to London, wiiere, having ex- 
hausted his means and his friends, and being thrown upon his 
own resources for support, he became a writer of plays and 
romances, or, as he calls them, "love pamphlets." He took 



* The Repentance of Robert Greene, published after liis death. See p. 16. 



8 nOBERT GREENE. 

his degree of A.M. at Clare Hall, Canibridge, iu lb'83; and t\ie 
earliest ^ork he is known to have given to tlie press bears the 
date of that year. In 1584 lie publislicd three prose pieces — 
llie Myrroiir of Modestie; Morando. the Tritameron of Lote; 
and Groydoni'us, ilie Carde of Fancle. The passage in his 
Repentance, pointing to these details, speaks of the great popu- 
larity he soon acquired by his writiDgs. a fact of ^^ hich we have 
abundant proofs in the number of editions through whicli n:;ost 
of them passed. 

At my ictuni into Eiii^lnml, T ruffled out in my silks, in the linbit of 
Malcontent, and .•^ecmed so discoiitt'iit tlmt no place would i)lease me to 
abide in, nor no vocation canse me to stay myself in; but after I bad by 
degrees proceeded ^Master (<f Arts, I left tbe University and away to 
London, Avben (after 1 bad continued some sboi t time., and driven myself 
out of credit with sundry of my friends) I became an author of jtlays. and 
a penner of Love Pamphlets, so that I soon grew famous in that quality, 
that who for that had grown so ordinary about London as Ilobin Greene. 
Young yet in years, though old in wickedness, I began to resolve that 
theie was notiiing bad that was profitable: whei-euison I became so rooted 
ill all mischief, that I had as great a delight in wickedness as sundry 
hath in godlincBS; and as much felicity I took in villany as others had in 
lionesty. 

Some allowances must be niade for the tim>e and circumstances 
under which penitent reminiscences like these are collected, and 
displayed by way of self-abasement and Avarning to others. Dis- 
solute as he subsequently became, there was at all events a time, 
however brief, in which he preserved some reputable relations 
with society, and was admitted to the intercom-se of people of 
cliaracter and condition. The three pieces he published in tlie 
second year of his authorship were respectively dedicated to the 
Countess of Derl)y, the Earl of Anmdel, and the Earl of Oxford. 
The young writer who appeared under such auspices could not 
yet have utterly sunk into the 'wickedness" and "villany" with 
which he afterward reproached himself. 

Whether Greene ever embraced any profession is extremel}'- 
doubtful. It has been supposed that he entered holy orders soon 
after hie return from the continent, and that he was the same 
Robert Greene w^ho was presented to the vicarage of Tollesbmy, 
in Essex, on the 19th of June, 1584, which he held only a few 
months. All the facts that have come down to us respecting tbe 
poet tend to negative this conjecture. 



ROBERT GREENE. 9 

That Greene contemplated tiie profession of medicine is indi- 
cated by decisive evidence on tlie titlepage of one of liis tracts, 
Planetomaclda, pul)]islied in 1585, wliere lie styles himself 
"Master of Arts and Student in Piiysic"; but there is no ground 
for supposing that lie ever advanced any further. It seenis, too, 
that at some time in the course of his career, apparently at a late 
period, he attempted the stage — an expedient to which, ri.ost of 
the dramatists of that age had recourse, especially his friends 
Peele and Marlov^^e, and afterwards Shakspere and Ben Jonson. 
This conjecture — for it amounts to no more — is founded on an 
allusion to Greene as a '"player," in Gabriel Harvey's Foiir 
Letters, published after Greene's death, in which he speaks of 
him as "the king of the paper stage," and says that he "had 
played his last part, and was gone to join Tarleton." There has 
also been cited in support of this evidence, a MS. note on a cop}' 
of The Pinner of Wakefield, 1599, which affirms that play to 
have been '•w'ritten by .... a minister, who acted the Pinner s 
part himself"; to which is added a memorandum in another 
handwriting to this effect: "Ed. Juby saith it was made by 
Ro. Greene." Jub\' was an actor of that time, and his testin:ony 
on such a point would be unexceptionable, if it could be verified. 
But both note and memorandum assert so much for which tliei-e 
is no other witness whatever, tliat they should be received with 
caution. They not only ascribe to Greene the authorship of a 
play which was published anonymously seven years after his 
death, but inform us at the same time that he was both a min- 
ister and an actor. These loose particulars seem to have been 
scribbled on the tiilepage by some collectors of gossip, who were 
not ver\' particular about the sources of their information. 

In 1588 Greene was incorporated at Oxford, a proof that he 
enjoyed an honorable reputation as a scholar, and that liis con- 
duct up to that time had not brought any public disgrace upon 
him. His marriage, which appears to have been soon succeeded 
by that downward course of dissipation from which he never 
recovered, took place at least two years before. The expiatory 
relation he has himself given of this event, of his heartless de- 
sertion of his wife after he had spent her fortune, and of his 
subsequent life in the lowest dens of London, conveys forcibly 
its own painful moral. 



10 BOBERT GREENE. 

Tims although God sent his Holy Spii it to c;ill mo, and though I heard 
him. vet I regarded it no longer th;;n the present time, when, suddenly 
forsaking it, I went forward obstinately in my ruin. Nevertheless, soon 
after. I married a gentleman's daughter of good account, Mith whom I 
lived for a while: hut forasmuch as she would persuade me from my williil 
wickedness, after I had a child by her, I cast her off, having spent up all 
the marriage money which I obtained by her. 

Tlun left I her at six or seven, who went into Lincolnshire, and I to 
London ; where in short space I fell into favor with such as weie of hon- 
orable and good calling. But here note, that though I knew how to get a 
friend, yet I had not the gift or reason how to keep a friend; for he that 
was mj- dearest friend, I would be sure to behave myself toward him that 
he should ever after profess to be my utter enemy, or else vow never after 
to come in my company. 

Thus my misdemeanors (too many to he recited) caused the most of 
those so much to despise me, that in the end I became friendless, except 
it were in a few alelioiises, who commonly for my inordinate expenses 
would make much of me. until I were on the scoi e, far more than ever I 
meant to pay bj- twenty nobles thick. After I had wholly betaken me to 
the penning of pla.ys (which was my continual exercise), I was so far from 
calling upon God. that I seldom thought on God, but took such delight in 
swearing and blasi)heming the name of God,* that none could think other- 
wise of me, than that I was the child of perdition. These vanities and 
other trifling pamphlets I penned of love and vain fantasies was my chief- 
est stay of living, and for those, my vain discourses, I was beloved of the 
more vainer sort of people, who, being my continual companions, came 
still to my lodging, and there would continue quafling, carousing, and 
surfeiting with me all the day long. 

It is upon the close of this passage, and the contrition which 
Greene expressed on other occasions concerning the frivoht}^ and 
laxity of his love pamphlets, that his biographers, probably, 
founded, the charge they bring against him, of having prostituted 
his genius to gratify the tastes of the fashionable profligates of 
the day. The accusation is in a great degree justified by Greene's 
own confessions and recantations, in which he speaks of the 
"sundry wanton pamphlets," and the "axioms of amorous phi- 
losophy," he had published, and especially where he describes 
his repentance as the reformation of a second Ovid, — "inferior 
by a thousand degrees to him in wit or learning, but, I fear, 
half as fond in publishing amorous fancies." He again compares 
himself to Ovid in the dedication of his Notable Discovery of 

* He elsewhere admonishes Marlowe on having, in common with him* 
se2f, denied the existence of a God. See post, p. 2'. 



ROBERT GREENE. 11 

Coosnage, pubK>i'hed in 1591, citing also the examples of Diogenes 
and Socrates, who, renouncing the vices of tlicir youth, became 
wise and virtuous in tlieir maturity. This address is curious as 
a piece of autobiography, showing the villanous haunts and 
associations into which Greene fell in the course of his short 
career, and the profitable uses to which he afterwards turned 
the knowledge he had thus acquired, by exposing in his publi- 
cations the cheats and schemers of the metropolis. The dedica- 
tion is addressed "to the young gentlemen, merchants, appren- 
tices, farmers, and plain countrvmen." 

Diogenes, gentlemen, from a counterfeit coiner of money, became a 
current corrector of manners, as absolute in t^io one as dissolute in the 
other: time refineth men's atfects, and tlieir humors grow different by the 
distinction of age. Poor Ovid, that amorout-^-/ vrit in his youth tlie Art 
of Love, complained in his exile among the Getes of his wanton follies. 
And Socrates' age was viituous, though his prime was licentious. So, 
gentlemen, my younger years had uncertain thoughts, but now my ripe 
days call on to repentant deeds, and I sorrow as much to see others wilful, 
as I delighted once to be wanton. The odd madcaps I have been mate to. 
not as a companion, but as a sjyy to have an insight into their liuaveries, 
that, seeing their trains, I might eschew their snares; those mad fellow.s 
I learned at last to loathe, by their own graceless villanies, and what I sa\V 
in them to their confusion, I can forewarn in others to my country's com- 
modity. Xoue could decypher tyranny better than Aristip})iis, not that 
his nature was cruel, but that he was nurtured with Dionysius; the simplo 
swain that cuts the lapidary's stones, can distinguish a ruby from a dia- 
mond only by his labor; though I have not practised their deceits, yet con- 
versing bj- fortune, and talking upon purpose with such copes-mates, hatli 
given me light into their conceits, and I can deC3pher their qualities 
though I utterly mislike of their practices. 

Peele, Nash, and Marlowe, to whom he addressed a parting 
expostulation, were Greene's most intimate literary associates. 
Their names were so constantly found in companionship during 
their lives, that Dekker brings their shades together in the 
Elysian fields, where, after describing old Chaucer, grave Spenser, 
and other famous poets seated in the arbors and bowers of the 
Grove of Bays, he thus introduces the four inseparable poets 
collected, appropriately enough, under the shadow of a great 
vine tree : — 

In another company sat learned "VTatson, industrious Kyd, ingenious 
Atchlow, and (though he had been a player, moulded out of their pens) 
yet because he had been their lover, and a register to tlie Muses, inim- 
itable Bentley : these were likewise carousing to one another at the hol^- 



12 TtOBERT OnEENE. 

well, some of them singing Paeans to ApoJlo, some of them hymns to the 
rest of the gods, whilst llailowe, Greene, and Peele had got undei- the 
shades of a large vine, laiigliing to see J^ash (tliat was but newly come to 
their college) still haunted with tlie sliarp and satirical spirit that followed 
him here upon earth; for Nash inveiglied bitterly (as he hiid wont to do) 
against dry-listed patrons, accusing them of liis untimely dealli, because 
if they had given his muse that cherishment wliich she most wortliily de- 
served, he had fed to his dying daj- on f;it capons, buiut sach and sugnr, 
and not so desperately liaA'e ventured his life, and shortened his d;iys by 
keeping company with pickle heirings.* 

Dekker here alludes to an cntertaimr.ent consisting of pickled 
herrings and Rhenish wine, at which Nash and Greene were 
present, some time in Angnst, 1592. Upon that occasion, Greene 
is said to have eaten and drunk to so great an excess that the 
surfeit was followed by an illness which, in less than a month, 
terminated in his death. He appears to have been reduced at 
this time to the lowest condition of distress and degradation, — 
lodging at the house of a struggling shoemaker in Dowgate, and 
indebted to his landlord, who could ill afford such bounty, for 
the bare necessaries of life. Fortunately the poor people with 
whom he lodged were persons of a compassionate nature ; and 
his hostess, more than ordinarily touched by the sufferings of a 
man whose literary reputation presented so strange a contrast to 
his actual circumstances, was unremitting in her attendance 
upon him. Gabriel Harvc}', in giving an account of his last 
hours which he professes to have received from the hostess her- 
self, says that she was his onlj' nurse ; that none of his old ac- 
quaintances came to comfort, or even to visit him, except Mrs. 
Appleby, and the mother of tiie bo}', whom Harvey calls Infor- 
tunatus Greene ; that even Nash, although he had been the chief 
guest at the "fatal banquet of pickle herring," never came to 
perform the duty of a friend ; and that Greene was at last driven 
to such extremities b}^ sheer poverty tliat he was obliged to wear 
his host's shirt while his own was washing, and to sell his doub- 
let, hose, and sword for three shillings. Some of these state- 
ments were afterward contradicted b}' Nash, who insiiuiates 
rather than asserts that Greene was not reduced to such an ex- 
tremity before his death, and that instead of his apparel being 

* A Knight's Conjuring Done in Earnest: Discovered in Jest. By 'J'homas 
Dekker. 1607. 



nOBERT GREENE. 13 

of the value of only three shillings, the doublet he wore at the 
•'fatal banquet" was so good that a broker would give thirty 
shillings for it alone, and that Greene had also a "ver}' fair 
cloak with sleeves," of a grave goose-green, worth at least ten 
shillings. There is so much scurrilit}' in the pamphlets of Xash 
and Harvey that it is difficult to determine the amount of credit 
due to cither ; but Harvey's details are probabh' accurate, as we 
find the main facts of Greene's penur3'and friendlessness attested 
by himself in the affecting letter he addressed to his wife in his 
last moments. Nash's principal object in replying to Harvey's 
pamphlet (published immediately after Greene's death)* was not 
so much to vindicate the memory of his friend, as to relieve 
himself from the odium of having been one of Greene's intimate 
companions, although their intercourse was notorious. "A thou- 
sand there be," he declares, "that have more reason to speak 
in his behalf than I, who since I first knew him about town have 
been two years together, and not seen him." This mean and 
false disavowal of the associate whom he left to perish in want, 
throws discredit upon all other parts of Nash's testimony. 

The clearest, and, upon the whole, the most reliable narrative 
of Greene's death is that which is subjoined to his Repentance, 
the tract written by him during his last illness. It seems to have 
been compiled by the person to whom the publication of the 
Repentance was intrusted, and forms a very proper sequel to 
tiKit work. 

THE MANNER OF THE DEATH AND LAST END OF ROBERT GREENE, MASTER 

OF ARTS. 

After that lie liad penned the former flisconrse, then l.\iiig soie sick of 
fi surfeit wiiich he had taken witli drinkinjr, he continued most patient 
and penitent; yea, he did with tears forsake the world, renounced swear- 
ing, and desired forgiveness of God and the world for all his offenses; so 
that duriiij; all the time of his sickness, which was about a months space, 
he was never heard to swear, rave, or hlasi)heme the name of God. as he 
was accustomed to do before that time, which greatly comfoi ted his well- 
willers, to see how mightily the grace of God did work in him. 

He confessed himself that he was never heart-sick, but s;iid that all liia 

* Harvey's painphlet is entitled Fuur Letters and Certain Sonnets. Es- 
pecially touching Bobert Greene and other poets, by hiin abused. But inci- 
dentally of divers excellent pcrsojis and some matters of note. To all courteous 
mindes that will vouchsafe the reading. 1592. — Xash's pamphlet, Strange 
Neives, in whicli he replied to Harvey s assertions, appeared soon after. 



14 nOBERT GREENE. 

pain was in his belly. And although he coiitimially scoured, yet still liia 
belly swelled, and neTer left swelling upward, until it swelled him at the 
heart, and in his face. 

During the whole time of his sickness, he continually called upon God, 
and recited these sentences following : — 

Oh, Lord, forgive me my manifold offenses. 

Oh, Lord, have mercy upon me. 

Oh, Lord, forgive me my secret sins, and in mercv", Lord, pardon them all. 

Thy mercy, oh Lord, is above thy works. 
And with such like godly sentences he passed the time, even till he gave 
up the ghost. 

And this is to be noted, that his sickness did not so greatly weaken him, 
but that he walked to his chair and back again the niglit V)efore he de- 
parted, and then, being feeble, laying him down on his bed, about nine of 
the clock at night, a friend of his told liim that his wife had sent him com- 
mendations, and that she was in good health ; whereat he greatly rejoiced, 
confessed that he had mightily wronged her, and wished that he might 
see her before he departed. Whereupon, feeling that his time was but 
short, he took pen and ink and wrote her a letter to this effect:* — 

Sweet wife, as ever there was any good will or friendship between thee 
and me, see this bearer, my host, satisfied of his debt. I owe him ten 
pounds, and but for him I had perished in the streets. Forget and forgive 
my wrongs done unto thee, and Almighty God have mercy on mj" soul. 
Farewell till we meet in heaven, for on earth thou shalt never see me 
more. This 2 of September, 1592, 

Written by thy dying husband, 

Egbert Greene. t 

* Harvey gives another version of this letter, in substance identical witli 
a portion of the above, but omitting (perhaps designedly, for Harvey's 
malignity was quite capable of doing so great a wrong to the memory of 
the unfortunate poet) those passages in which Greene expresses contrition, 
and asks for his wife's forgiveness — the one redeeming grace of his mis- 
erable life. Harvey says that Greene was deeply indebted to liis host, and 
that he gave him a bond for ten pounds, underneath which he wiote the 
following letter: "Doll, I charge thee by the love of our youth, and by my 
soul's rest, that thou wilt see this man paid ; for if he and his wife had not 
s'uccored me, I had died in the streets. — Robert Greene." This is not so 
likely, upon the face of it, to be the true version as that given in the text. 
It is incredible that, after having abandoned his wife, under circumstances 
of utter heartlessness, upwards of six years before, he would have written 
to hei- on his deathbed to ask her to paj- a debt for him without some 
words of penitence or remorse. 

t There is another still more touching letter extant from Greene to his 
wife, written during his last illness, and published after his death in the 
GroaVs Worth of Wit. As most of the incidents of his life, recorded by 
himself or his contemporaries, reflect discredit on his character, it is only 



nOBSlRT GREENE. 15 

He died on the following day, 3d of September, 1592, and 
was buried on the 4th in the New Cliurchyard, near BedhuiL 
Harve}' tells us that his "sweet hostess" crowned his dead body 
with a garland of bays, "to show that a tenth muse honored 
him more being dead than all the nine honored him alive. I 
know not whether Skelton, Elvcrton, or some like flourishing 
poet were so interred: it were his own request, and his nurse's 
devotion." 

Shortly after his death appeared that singular confession of 
liis vices and follies which he prepared for the press during his 
last illness, and to which we are indebted for the chief partic- 

jiist to present siicli evidence as lias been preserved of the better qiialilies 
of his nature. The foHowinj; is the letter i»rinted in the Groat's Worth of 
Wit. It is headed — 

'A l.KTTEU WlilTTEX TO HIS Wn'E. FOLXD WITH THIS 1300K AFTKU HIS 

DKATU. 

''The remembrance of many wrongs offered thee, and thy unreproved 
virtues, add greater sorrow to my miserable state thiui 1 can utter, or thou 
conceive. Neither is it lessened by consideration of tliy absence (though 
shame would let me haidly behold thy face), but exceedingly aggravated, 
for that I can not (as I ought) to thy owu self reconcile mjeelf, that thou 
mightest witness my inward woe at tliis instant, that have nnide thee a, 
woful wife for so long a time. But equal heaven hath denied that comfort, 
giving at mj' hist need, like succor as I sought all mj- life: being in this 
extremity as void of help as thou hast been of hope. Reason would, that 
after so long waste, I should not send thee a child to bring thee greater 
charge: but consider he is the fruit of thy womb, in whose face regard not 
the father so much as thy own perfections. He is yet Greene, and may 
grow straight, if he be carefully tended: otherwise apt enough (I fear me) 
to follow his father's follJ^ That I have offended thee highly, I know; 
that thou canst forget my injuries, I hardly believe ; yet persuade I myself, 
if thou saw my wretched estate, thou wouldest not but lament it; na^, 
certainly I know thou wouldest. All my wrongs muster themselves about 
me; every evil at once plagues me. For my contempt of God, I am con- 
temned of men ; for my swearing and forswearing, no man will believe me; 
for my gluttony I suffer hunger; for my drunkenness, thirst ; for mj' adul- 
tery, ulcerous sores. Thus God hath cast me down, that I might be hum- 
bled: and punished me for example of others' sins; and although he suffers 
me in this world to perish without succor, yet trust I in the world to coma 
to find mercy, by the merits of my Saviour, to whom I commend thee, and 
commit my soul. 

"Thy repentant husband, for bis disloyalty, 

"Egbert Greene." 



16 nOBEMT GREENE. 

ulars of his biography.* It v.e vverc to judge by the ordinary 
standard of human actions, we niight reasonabi}^ doubt the gen- 
uineness of this publication. But Greene was as lil^el}' to repent 
openly as to offend pul)iicly. He was a man of a rash and 
ardent teuiperanient, and had none of that conventional shai e 
whicli would have induced him eitlier to conceal liis misconduct 
or to withhold the expression of his remorse. Even if we had 
not concurrent testin;ony from others of the erroi'S of his life, 
and his contrition at the last, his own acknowledged works fully 
corroborate most of the particulars revealed in his Repentance, 
and one of them, as w^e shall presently see, contains a very re- 
markable confirmation of his desire to make know^i to the world 
the change which had latterly taken place in his feelings and 
opinions. 

Gabriel Harvey's account of Greene's former way of living 
may be accepted without much hesitation, as it is upon the 
main sustained bj' Greene's own statements. It is also of some 
value as a picture of the town-life of the roystereis and rufflers 
of the sixteenth century. 

I was altofretlier uiiacqnaiiited with tlie man, and never once saluted 
him byname; but who, in London, liatli not heard of his dissolute and 
licentious liviiijr; his loud disjiiiisini; of a Master of Art with ruffianly 
hair, unseemly apparel, aiul more unseemly com])any, his vainjilorious and 
thrasonical bravinj;; his juperly extemporizing and Tarletonizing ; t his 
apish counterfeiting of every lidiculous and absurd toy: his tine cozening 
of jugglers and finer juggling with cozeners; his villainous cogging and 
foisting; his monstrous sv>'earing, and horrible forswearing; his im]iiou8 
piofaning of sacred texts; his other scamialous and blasphemous raving; 
his riotous and outi'ageous surfeiting; his continual shifting of lodgings; 
his plausible mustering and banqueting of roysterly acquaintance at his 
fiist coming; his beggarly dei)arting in every hostess's debt; liis infamous 
resorting to I lie Bankside, Shoruditch, Southwark, and other filthy haunts ; 



* The Repentance of Robert Greene. Master of Arts. Wherein by himself is 
laid open his loose life, with the manner of his death. At London, printed 
for Cuthbert Burbie, and nre to be sold at the middle shop in the Poultiy, 
-Hider Saint Mildred's Church. 1592. — The authenticity of this pamphlet 
is in some degree supported by the fact that in the same year the same 
stationer, Cuthbert Burbie, published, with Greene's name, the Third and 
Last Part of Cony catching. 

t Alluding to Tarleton, the clown. It may be hence inferred that if 
Greene was at any time au actor, it was in Tarleton's line of characters. 



ROBERT GREENE. 17 

bis obscure lurking in basest corners: liis pawning of liis swonl, clo.'jk. and 
■\vb;it not, when money came short; liis inipudeiit paniplilelinjr. iiliaiitas- 
tical intt!rlii»lin<:, and desperate libeling, when otlier cozening sliiits fiiiled; 
his employing of R:ill (snrnanied Cutting B;ill) till he wns inteice])ted jij 
Tyburn, to levy a crew of iiis trustiest companions to gu.ird him in daiiuer 
of arrests; his keeping of ihe nt'oresaid Ball's sister, a sorry ragged queiin, 
of wiiom he liad bis base son, Infortunatus Greene; his fois;iking of his 
own wife, too honest for such a husband ; particulars are infinite; his con- 
tctuuing of superiors, deriding of ot iiers, aiul defying of all good order? 

The allusion to Greene's "riiffianl}' hair" indicates one of the 
pecnliarities of his personal appearance which other contempo- 
raries corroborate; bnt the charge of unseeml}^ apparel is con- 
tradicted by Nash and Chettle. With reference to his beard, 
Nash says that Greene '"cherished continually, witiiout cutting, 
a jolly iong red peak, like the spire of a steeple, ^vhereat a man 
might hang a jewel, ii was so sharp and pendant": and Chettle 
describes iiini as '"a nian of indiHerent years, of face amiable, 
of body well proportioned, his attire after the habit of a sclioiar- 
like gentleman, only his hair v\-as somewhat long." 

Notwithstanditig the dissipation to which he sm-rendercd him- 
self during his brief career of authorship, Greene was a volu- 
minous writer. His industry, at least, was irreproachable, and 
the versatility of his powers is amply attested bv the extraor- 
dinary variety and number of his works. Hazlewood enumerates 
no less than forty-five independent publications, including plays 
and translations, which are ascribed to him; and the list is cer- 
tainly imperfect. The great deficiency is in His plays, of which 
only five have descended to us. So prolific a producer, depend- 
ing entirely on his writings for support, may be supposed to have 
contributed more largely to the theater, which \va3 to him, as to 
others, a principal sotu'cc of profit. His plays, contrasted with 
tiiose of the writers who belong to the latter part of the reign of 
Elizabeth and the beginning of the reign of James I., are not of 
nuich account. But, estiniated by comparison with his contem- 
poraries, Greene is entitled to a higher position. He was one of 
the four.ders ot the English stage. Shakspere had not yet ap- 
peared when Greene made his triumphs; and the 'wit-combats' 
at the Mermaid, which mark the culminating point of the dran^a- 
tic poetry of the age, did not take place till many years after his 
death. Kyd, Marlowe, Lodge, and Peele were his immediate 



18 ROBERT GREENE. 

contemporaries, and, although inferior to K^'d in breadth of con- 
ception, to Marlowe in passion, and to Lodge in Ij'rical sweetness, 
he frequently rivalled them in tlie exubei'ance of his fancy, and 
ma}' be said to have general)}' excelled them in occasional pass- 
ages of remarkable elegar.ce and refinement. He was one of the 
''Universit}' pens" who were accused of overloading the drama 
with classical lore, an error of taste which was afterwards cari'ied 
to the last extremity b}' jMarston, and which helped materially, 
when a more natural style was introduced, to destroy the popu- 
larity of their productions. ''They smelt too much of that writer 
Ovid," says a droll, in one of the stage satires of the day. "and 
that W'riter 'Metam^orphosis,' and talk too much of Prosei-pine and 
Jupiter. Wln^ here's our fellow^ Shakspcre can put them all 
down, ay, and Ben Jonson too." 

The novels of Roljert Greene were even n^ore popular in his 
own time than his plays, although they liave long since gone 
down into oblivion. Written to secure a temporary success, with 
an utter indifference to the verdicts of posterity, the}^ were 
constructed on the fashionable model, and abor.nd in euphuistic 
affectations of d ction and sentiment. The language is generally 
stilted and pedantic, and the style crude and obscure. But they 
are not without special merits, which ma}' still be recognized and 
admired. The plots are ingenious and skillfully conducted, and 
the conceits, which w'eary and offend the modern reader, are 
sometimes relieved by passages of much grace and beauty. 
They must also be regarded with interest as the medium through 
which nearly all Greene's poems, not of a dramatic Ivind, were 
published. 

These pieces are scattered over the stories, in some places talk- 
ing jp the argument of the narrative, in others expressing the 
emotions and feelings of the characters; sometimes a song, some- 
times a remonstrance or panegyric, and everywhere interleaving 
the action to brighten its progress. In no part of his works is 
Greene more une(iual ; and no where else, on the other hand, 
does he display so much true poetical feeling. Haste and negli- 
gence are visible throughout; yet there are few of these snatclies 
of verse that are not worth preserving for some slight trait of 
excellence, either in the thought or the expression. His associa- 
tion with Lodge, probably, led him to cultivate pastoral subjects, 



ROBERT GREENE. 19 

which he here occasioaalh' touches with a truthfulness and sim- 
plicity hardly to be expected from the author of so many mere- 
tricious love pamphlets. The poems are entirely free from the 
ranting extravagance that runs through his plays ; and, although 
he often overlays a passion with artificial images, he sometimes 
delineates it with reality and tenderness. Greene's versification 
can not be included amongst his merits. He wants variety, full- 
ness, and fluency. But his irregular measures are more agreeable 
than his blank verse, which is, for the most part, flat and mo- 
notonous. 

In addition to the poems extracted from Greene's novels and 
tlie fragments which appeared in the antholog}- called England's 
Pai'nassus, printed in 1600, the present edition contains a piece 
of some magnitude and importance not previously included in 
any collection. The Maiden'' s Dream is the only poem by Greene 
known to have been published in an independent form, and is 
by far the longest and most ambitious of his metrical productions. 
For the recover)'- of this interesting relic the public are indebted 
to the researches of iNIr. James P. Rcardon, who communicated 
his discovery to the Shaksoere Society in the year 1845. 



POEMS 



OF 



EOBEllT GREENE. 



FROM MORANDO, TEE TRITAMERON OF LOVE. 



THE DESCRIPTION 07 CILVESr.O'S LADY. 

Her stature like the till strcii^f^-lit ceda,r trees, 
Whose stately bulks do fame tli' Arabian f-rcrves ; 
A pace like princely Juna when she braved 
The Queen of love 'fore Paris in the va, e ; 
A front beset with love and courtesy; 
A face like modest I'allas \/hen she blushed 
A seely shepherd should be beauty's judge; 
A lip sweet ruby-red, graced with delight; 
A cheek w^.ierein for interchange of hue 
A wrangli'ig strife 'twixt lily and the rose ; 
Her eyes two twinkling stars in winter nights, 
When chilling frost doth clear the azured sky; 
Her hair of golden hue dotli dim Ihe beams 
Thco'j proud Apollo givelh from his coach ; 
The Gnidian doves, whose white and ..nowy pens 
Do stain the silver-strei.mino" i.-ory. 
May not compare wij'i thos^ two moving hills, 
Which topped with prett;' teats ..is^ovcr iown a vale 
Wherein the god of love may deijn \^ slcop- 
A foot like Thetis when she tripped -le sands 
To steal ITc";t'anus' favor with her steps; 
A piece despite of beauty framed, 
To show wnat Na'uro's lineage could afford- 



22 POEMS OF 

LACENA'S RIDDLE. 
The man whose method hangeth by the moon, 

And rules his diet by geometry; 
Whose restless mind rips up his mother's breast, 

To part her bowels for his family ; 
And fetcheth Pluto's glee in fro the grass 

By careless cutting of a goddess' gifts ; 
That throws his gotten labor to the earth, 

As trusting to content for others' shifts : 
'Tis he, good sir, that Satan best did please, 
When golden world set worldlings all at ease; 

His name is Person, and his progeny. 

Now tell me, of what ancient pedigree. 



VERSES. 

UNDER THE PICTURE OF FORTUNE. 

The fickle seat whereon proud Fortune sits, 

The restless globe whereon the fury stands, 
Bewrays her fond and far inconstant fits ; 

The fruitful horn she handleth in her hands, 
Bids all beware to fear her flattering smiles. 
That giveth most when most she meaneth guiles; 
The wheel tliat turning never taketli rest, 

The top whereof fond worldlings count their bliss. 
W'^ithin a minute makes a black exchange. 

And then the vile and lowest better is ; 
W^hich emblem tells us the inconstant state 
Of such as trust to Fortune or to fate. 



FEOM MENAPHON. 



APOLLO'S ORACLE. 
AVhen Neptune riding on the southern seas, 

Shall from the bosom of his leman yield 
Th' Arcadian wonder, men and gods to please, 

Plenty in pride shall march amidst the field, 
Dead men shall war, and unborn babes shall frown, 
And with their falchions hew their foemen down. 



IWBERT GUEENE. 23 

AVlien lambs have lions for their surest guide, 
And planets rest upon th' Arcadian hills, 

When swelling seas have neither ebb nor tide, 
When equal banks the ocean margin fills ; 

Then look, Arcadians, for a happy time, 

And sweet content within your troubled clime. 



MENAPHON'S SONG. 



Some say, Love, 

Foolish Love, 
Doth rule and govern all the gods ; 

I say Love, 

Inconstant Love, 
Sets men's senses far at odds. 

Some swear Love, 

Smooth-faced Love, 
Is sweetest sweet that men can have. 

I say. Love, 

Sour Love, 
Makes virtue yield as beauty's slaves 
A bitter sweet, a folly worst of all. 
That forceth wisdom to be folly's thrall. 

Love is sweet: 

Wherein sweet? 
In fading pleasures that do pain? 

Beauty sweet: 

Is that sweet, 
That yieldeth sorrow for a gain? 

If Love's sweet, 

Herein sweet 
That minutes' joys are monthly woess 

'Tis not sweet, 

That is sweet 
Nowhere, but where repentance grows. 
Then love who list, if beauty be so sour ; 
Labor for me. Love rest in prince's bower. 



24 



POEMS OF 



STEPHESTIA'S SONG TO HER CHILD. 

Weep not, my wanton, smile npoii my knee ; 
When thou iirt old there's grief enough for thee 

Mother's wag, pretty boy. 

Father's sorrow, father's joy ; 

When thy father first did see 

Such a boy b}^ him and me, 

He was glad, I was woe, 

Fortune changed made him so, 

When he left his pretty boy 

Last his sorrow, first his joy. 

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee. 
When thou art old there's grief enough for theCo 

Streaming teais that never- stint, 

Like pearl dro] s I'rom a flint. 

Fell by course from 1 ^s eyes, 

That one another's t ^ace supplies; 

Thus he grieved in every part. 

Tears of blood fell from hie heart, 

When he left his pretty hoy, 

Father's sorrow% father's joy. 

Weep not, mj wanton, smile upon my knee, 
W^hen thou art old there's grief enough for thee^ 

The Y^^anton smiled, father w^ept, 

Mother cried, baby leapt ; 

More he crowed, more Vv^e cried. 

Nature could not sorrow hide : 
' He must go, he must kiss 

Child and mother, baby bless. 

For he left his i3retty boy. 

Father's sorrow^, father's joy. 
Weep not, my w^anton, smile uj^on my knee, 
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. 



EGBERT GREENE. 25 



MENAPHON'S ROUNDELAY. 

When tender ewes, brought home w^th evening sun, 

Wend to tlieir folds, 

And to their holds 
The shepherds trudge when light of day is done. 

Upon a tree 
The eagle, Jove's fair bird, did perch ; 

Tnere resteth he: 
A little fly his harbor then did search. 
And did presume, though others laughed thereat, 
To perch, whereas the princely eagle sat. 

The eagle frowned, and shook his royal wings, 

And charged the fly 

From thence to hie: 
Afraid, in haste, the little creature flings. 

Yet seeks again. 
Fearful, to perk him by the eagle's side. 

With moody vein, 
The speedy post of Ganymede replied, 
'"Vassal, avaunt, or with my wings you die: 
Is't fit an eagle seat him with a fly?" 

The fly craved pity, still the eagle frowned: 

The silly fly. 

Ready tc die, 
Disgraced, displaced, fell groveling to the ground: 

Thvi eagle saw, 
And with a ro^^al mind said to the fly, 

"Be not in awe, 
I scorn by me the meanest creature die; 
Then seat thee here." The joyful fly up flings, 
And sate safe shadowed with the ea^'le's wings. 




26 POEMS OF 

DORON'S DESCRIPTION OF SAMELA. 

Like to Diana in her summer weed, 

Girt with a, crimson robe of brightest dye, 

Goes fair Samela; 
"Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed, 
When washed by Arethnsa faint they lie, 

Is fair Samela; 
As fair Aurora in her morning grey, 
Decked with the ruddy glister of her love, 

Is fair Samela; 
Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day, 
Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move, 

Shines fair Samela; 
Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams, 
Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory 

Of fair Samela ; 
Her cheeks, like rose and lily yield forth gleamSj 
Her brows' bright arches framed of ebony ; 

Thus fair Samela 
Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue. 
And Juno in the show of majesty, 

For she's Samela, 
Pallas in wit: all three, if you well view, 
For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity 

Yield to Samela. 



DORON'S JIG. 



Through the shrubs as I 'gan crack 
For my lambs, little ones, 
'Mongst many pretty ones. 
Nymphs I mean, whose hair was black 
As the crow ; 
Like the snow 
Her face and brows shined, I ween; 
I saw a little one, 
A bonny pretty one, 



nOBERT GREENE. 27 

As bright, buxom, and as sheen, 
As was she 
On her knee 
That lulled the god whose arrow warms 
Such merry little ones, 
Such fair-faced pretty ones. 
As dally in love's chiefest harms : 
Such was mine, 
Whose grey eyne 
Made me love. I 'gan to woo 
This sweet little one. 
This bonny pretty one, 
I wooed hard a day or two, 
Till she bade — 
''Be not sad, 
Woo no more, I am thine own. 
Thy dearest little one, 
Thy truest pretty one." 
Thus was faith and firm love shown, 
As behoves 
Shepherds' loves. 



MELICERTUS' DESCRIPTION OF HIS MISTRESS. 

Tune on, my i^ipe, the praises of my love. 
And midst thy oaten harmony recount 
How fair she is that makes my music mount, 

And every string of thy heart's harp to move. 

Shall I compare her form unto the sphere. 

Whence sun-bright Venus vaunts her silver shine? 
Ah, more than that by just compare is thine, 

Whose crystal looks the cloudy heavens do clear! 

# 

How oft have I descending Titan seen 

His burning locks couch in the sea-queen's lap, 
And beauteous Thetis his red body wrap 

In watery robes, as he her lord had been ! 



28 POEMS OF 

Whenas my nymiDl], imjDatient of the uiglit, 

Bade bright Arcturus with his train give place, 
AVhiles she led forth the day with her fair face. 

And lent each star a more than Delian light. 

Not Jove or Nature, should they both agree 
To make a v/oman of the firmament 
Of his mixed purity, could not invent 

A sky-born form so beautiful as she. 



MELICERTUS' MADRIGAL. 

What are my sheep without their wonted food? 
What is my life except I gain my love? 
My sheep consume and faint for want of blood, 
M}^ life is lost unless I grace apjDrove : 

No flower that sajoless thrives, 

No turtle without pheere.* 

The day without the sun doth lour for woe, 
Then woe mine eyes, unless they beauty see ; 
My sun Samela's eyes, by whom I kuow 
Wherein delight consists, where pleasures be: 

Nought more the heart revives 

Than to embrace his dear. 

The stars from earthly humors gain their light, 
Our humors by their light possess their power; 
Samela's eyes, f^d by my weeping sight. 
Infuse my pain or joys hj smile or lour: 

So wends the source of love ; 

It feeds, it fails, it ends. 

Kind looks, clear to your joy l)ehold her eyes 
Admire her heart, desire to taste her kisses ; 
In them the heaven of joy and solace lies, 
Without them ever}' hope his succor misses: ' 

Oh, how I love to prove 

Whereto this solace tends! 

Properly, fere — mute, compauiou. 



ROBERT GREENE. 



29 



MENAPHON'S SONG IN HIS BED. 

Yon restless cares, compani :ns of the uigbt, 
That wrap my joys in folds of endless woes, 
Tire on my heart, and wonud it with yonr spite, 
Since love and fortune prove my equal foes : 

Farewell my lioj^es, farewell my happy days; 

Welcome swe^t grief, the subject of my lays. 

Mourn heavens, mourn earth ; your shepherd is forlorn ; 
Mourn times and hours, since bale invades my bower; 
C'Urse every tongue the place where I was born, 
Cursa every thought the life which makes me lour: 

Farewell my hopes, farewell m}' happy days; 

Welcome sweet grief, the subject of my lays. 

Was I not free? Was I not fancy's aim? 
Framed not desire my face to front disdain? 
I was; she did; but now one silly maim 
Makes me to droop, as he whom love hath slain: 

Farewell my hopes, farewell my happy days; 

Welcome sweet grief, the subject of my lays. 

Yet drooping, and yet living to this death, 

I sigh, I sue f jr pity at her shrine, 

Whose fiery eyes exhale my vital breath. 

And make my flocks with parching heat to pine: 

Farewell my hopes, farewell my happy days ; 

Welcome sweet grief, the subject of my lays. 

Fade the}', die I : long may she live to bliss, 
That feeds a wanton lire with fuel of her form, 
And m ikes perpetual summer where she is; 
W-hii ^s I do cry, o'ertook with envy's storm. 

Farewell my hopes, farewell my happy days ; 

Welcome sweet grief, the subject of my lays. 



30 POEMS OF 

SONG. 

Fair fields, proud Flora's vaunt, why is't you smile, 

Wbenas I languish? 
You golden meads, why strive you to beguile 

My weeping anguish? 
I live to sorrow, you to pleasure spring : 

AVhy do you spring thus? 
What, will not Boreas, tempest's wrathful king, 

Take some pity on us. 
And send forth winter in her rusty weed 

To wail my bemoanings, 
Whiles I distressed do tune my country reed 

Unto my groanings? 
But heaven, and earth, time, place, and every power 

Have with her conspired 
To turn my blissful sweets to baleful sour, 

Since fond I desired 
The heaven whereto my thoughts may not aspire. 

Ah me, unhappj^! 
It was my fault t' embrace my bane, the fire 

That forceth me die. 
Mine be the pain, but hers the cruel cause 

Of this strange torment; 
Wherefore no time my banning prayers shall pause. 

Till proud she repent. 



MENAPHON'S ECLOGUE. 

Too weak the wit, too slender is the brain, 
That means to mark the power and worth of love' 
Not one that lives, except he hap to prove, 
Can tell the sweet, or tell the secret pain. 

Yet I that have been 'prentice to the grief, 
Like to the cunning seaman from afar, 
By guess will take the beauty of that star, 
Wliose influence must yield me chief relief. 



ROBERT GREENE. 31 

You censors of the glory of my dear, 
With reverence and lowly bend of knee. 
Attend and mark what her perfections be ; 
For in my words my fancies shall appear. 

Her locks are plighted like the fleece of wool 
That Jason with his Grecian mates achieved; 
As pure as gold, yet not from gold derived ; 
As full of sweets, as sweet of sweets is full 

Her brows are pretty tables of conceit. 
Where love his records of delight doth quote 5 
On them her dallying locks do daily float, 
As love full oft doth feed upon the bait. 

Her eyes, fair eyes, like to the purest lights 
That animate the sun, or cheer the day ; 
In whom the shining sunbeams brightly play, 
Whiles fancy doth on them divine delights. 

Her cheeks like ripened lilies steeped in wine, 
Or fair pomegranate kernels washed in milk. 
Or snow-white threads in nets of crimson silk, 
Or gorgeous clouds upon the sun's decline. 

Her lij)S are roses overwashed with dew, 

Or like the purple of Narcissus' flower ; 

No frost their fair,* no wind doth waste their power^ 

But by her breath her beauties do renew. 

Her crystal chin like to the purest mould. 
Enchased with dainty daisies soft and white, 
Where fancy's fair pavilion once is pight.f 
Whereas embraced his beauties he doth hold 

Her neck like to an ivory shining tower. 
Where through with azure veins sweet nectar runs, 
Or like the down of swans where Senesse woons.J 
Or like delight that doth itself devour. 



Fairness — beauty. tritclieil. : Dwells. 



32 POEMS OF 

Her paps are like fair apples in the prime, 
As round as orient pearls, as soft as down : 
Tbey never vail their fair through winter's frown, 
Bat from their sweets love sucked his summer time. 

Her body beauty's best esteemed bower, 

Delicious, comely, dainty, without stain ; 

The thought whereof (not touch) hath wrought my pain; 

Whose fair all fair and beauties doth devour. 



Her maiden mount, the dwelling house of pleasure 
Not like, for why no like surpasseth wonder: 
Oh, blest is he may bring such beauties under, 
Or search by suit the secrets of that treasure! 

Devoured in thought, how wanders my device! 
Vvliat rests behind I must divine upon : 
"Who talks the best, can say but fairer none; 
Few words well couched do most content the wise. 



All 3'ou that hear, let not my silly style 
Condemn my zeal, for what my tongue should say, 
Serves to enforce my thoughts to seek the way 
Whereby my woes and cares I do beguile. 

Seld speaketli love, but sighs his secret pains; 
Tears are his truchmen, words do make him tremble; 
Aow sweet is love to them that ■"■an dissemble 
h\ thoughts and looks, till th(y Lave reaped the gains! 

All lonely I complain, and wdiat I say 
I think, yet what I think tongue can not tell: 
Sweet censors, take my silly worst for well; 
I\[y failh is £rm, tlicugh homely be my lay. 



* Yv. TrurJievian, — i'llcpioter. 



ROBERT OREENE. 33 

MELICERTUS' ECLOGUE. 

What need compare, wliere sweet excjeils compare? 
"Who draws his thoughts of love from senseless things, 
Their pomp and greatest glories doth impair, 
And mounts loves heaven with overladen wings. 

Stones, herbs, and flowers, the foolish spoils of earth, 
Floods, metals, colors, dalliance of the eye : 
These show conceit is stained with too much dearth. 
Such abstract fond compares make cunning die. 

But he that hath the feeling taste of love 
Derives his essence from no earthly toy; 
A weak conceit his power can not approve, 
For earthly thoughts are subject to annoy. 

Be whist, be still, be silent, censors, now: 
Mv fellow swain has told a pretty tale, 
Which modern poets may perhaps allow, 
Yet I condemn the terms, for they are stale. 

Apollo, when my mistress first was born, 
Cut off his locks, and left them on her head, 
And said, I plant these wires in Nature's scorn, 
"Whose beauties shall appear when time is dead. 

From forth the crystal heaven when she was made 
The purity thereof did taint her brow. 
On which the glistering sun that sought the shade 
'Gan set, and there his glories doth avow. 

Those eyes, fair eyes, too fair to be described, 
Were those that erst the chaos did reform; 
To whom the heavens their beauties have ascribed. 
That fashion life in man, in beast, in worm. 

When first her fair delicious cheeks were wrought, 
Aurora brought her blush, the moon her white ; 
Both so combined as passed Nature's thought, 
Compiled those pretty orbs of sweet delight. 



34 POEMS OF 

When Love and Nature once were proud with play, 
From both their hps her lips the coral drew ; 
On them doth fancy sleep, and every day 
Doth swallow joy, such sweet delights to view. 

Whilom while "Venus' son did seek a bower 
To sport with Psyche, he desii-ed dear. 
He chose her chin, and from that happy stowre* 
He never stints in glory to appear. 

Desires and Joys, that long had served Love, 
Besought a hold where pretty eyes might woo them : 
Love made her neck, and for their best behove 
Hath shut them there, whence no man can undo them. 

Once Venus dreamed upon two pretty things, 
Her thoughts they were affection's chiefest nests; 
She sucked and sighed, and bathed her in the springs. 
And when she waked, they were my mistress' breasts. 

OncG Cuj^id sought a hold to couch his kisses, 
And found the body of my best beloved. 
Wherein he closed the beaut}- of his blisses, 
And from that bower can never be removed. 

The Graces erst, when Acidalian springs 
Were waxen dry, perhaps did find her fountain 
Within the vale of bliss, where Cupid's wings 
Do shield the nectar fleeting from the mountain. 



'& 



No more, fond man : things infinite I see 
Brook no dimension ; hell a foolish speech ; 
For endless things may never talked be; 
Then let me live to honor and beseech. 

Sweet Nature's pomp, if my deficient phrase 
Hath stained thy glories by too little skill, 
Yield pardon, though mine eye that long did gazr 
Hath left no better pattern to my quill. 

* Tliis woid is used in seveinl sijruificatioiis by the old writers, bntv^lnefly 
as conflict, battle, disorder. Here it implies a* particular moment of viuie. 



ROBERT GREENE. 35 

I will no more, no more will I detain 
Your listening* ears with dalliance of my tongue; 
I speak my joys, but 3^et conceal my pain. 
My pain too old, although my years be young. 



BORON'S ECLOGUE JOINED WITH CARMELA'S 

DORON. 

Sit down, Carmela ; here are cobs for kings, 
Sloes black as jet, or like my Christmas shoes, 
Sweet cider, which my leathern bottle brings; 
Sit down, Carmela, let me kiss thy toes. 

CAEMELA. 

Ah, Doron ! ah, my heart ! thou art as w^hite 
As is my mother's calf or brinded cow ; 
Thine eyes are like the glowworms in the night; 
Thine hairs resemble thickest of the snow. 

The lines within thy face are deep and clear, 
Like to the furrows of my father's w^ain ; 
Thy sweat upon thy face doth oft appear 
Like to my mother's fat and kitchen gain. 

Ah, leave my toe, and kiss my lips, my love! 
My lips are thine, for I have given them thee ; 
Within thy cap 'tis thou shalt Vv'ear my glove; 
At football sport thou shalt my champion be. 

DORON. 

Carmela dear, even as the golden ball 
That Venus got, such are thy goodly eyes; 
When cherries' juice is jumbled therewithal, 
Thy breath is like the steam of apple-pies. 

Thy lips resemble two cucumbers fair ; 
Thy teeth like to the tusks of fattest swine ; 
Thy speech i.o like the thunder in the air; 
Would God, thy toes, thy lips, and all were mine! 

CARMELA. 

Doron, what thing doth move this wishing grief? 



36 POEMS OP 

DOEON. 

'Tis love, Carmela, all, tis cruel love! 
That like a slave and caitiff villain thief, 
Hath cut my throat of joy for thy behovGo 

CARMELA. 

Where was he born"? 

DORON. 

In faith, I know not where ; 
But I have heard much talking of his dart; 
Ah me, poor man ! Avith many a trampling tear 
I feel him wound the forehearse of my heart. 

What do I love! Oh, no, I do but talk: 
What, shall I die for love? Oh, no, not so: 
What, am I dead v Oh, no, my tongue doth walk; 
Come, kiss, Carmela, and confound my woe. 

CARMELA. 

Even with this kiss, as once my father did, 
I seal the sw^eet iudentin-es of delight: 
Before I break my vow the gods forbid, 
No, not by day, nor yet by darksome night. 

DORON. 

Even with this garland made of hollyhocks, 
I cross thy brows from every shepherd's kiss: 
Heigh ho ! how glad I am to touch thy locks ! 
My frolic heart even now a freeman is. 

CARMELA. 

I thank you, Doron, and will think on you ; 
I love you, Doron, and will wink on you. 
I seal your charter patent with my thumbs : 
Come, kiss and part, for fear my mother comes. 




ROBERT GREENE. 37 

SONNETTO. 

What tiling is love? It is a power divine. 
That reigns in us, or else a wreakiul law, 
That dooms our minds to beauty to incline: 
It is a star, whose influence doth draw 

Oar hearts to love, dissembling of his might 
Till he be master of our hearts and sight. 

Love is a discord, and a strange divorce 
Betwixt our sense and reason, by whose power, 
As m id with reason, we admit that force, 
Which wit or labor never may devour: 

It is a will that brooketh no consent; 

It would refuse, yet never may repent. 

Love's a desire, which for to wait a time, 
Doth lose an age of years, and so doth pass, 
As doth the shadow, severed from his prime, 
Seeming as though it were, yet never was: 

Leaving bahind nought bat repentant thoughts 
Of days ill spent, for that which profits noughts. 

It's now a peace, and then a sudden war; 

A hope consumed before it is conceived; 

At hand it fears, and menaceth afar; 

And he that gains is most of all deceived: 
It is a secret hidden and not known. 
Which one may better feel than write upon. 



FROM PERIMEDE8, THE BLAGK8MITIL 



MADRIGAL. 

The swans, whose pens as white as ivory, 
Eclipsing fair Endymion's silver love, 
Floating like snow down by the banks of Po, 
Ne'er tuned their notes, like Leda once forlorn, 
With more despairing sorts of madrigals, 
Than I, whom wanton Love hath with his gad 
Pricked to the coui't of deep and restless thoughts. 



38 POEMS OF 

The frolic youngsters Bacchus' liquor mads, 
Run not about the wood of Thessaly 
With more enchimted fits of lunacy, 
Thau I, whom Love, whom sweet and bitter Love 
Fires, infects with suntlry passions ; 
Now lorn with liking overmuch my love, 
Frozen with fearing if I step too far, 
Fired with gazing at such glimmering stars, 
As stealing light from Phoebus' biightest rays. 
Sparkle and set a flame within my breast. 
Rest, restless Love, fond baby be content ; 
Child, hold thy darts within thy quiver close ; 
And, if thou wilt be roving with thy bow. 
Aim at those hearts that may attend on love: 
Let country swains, and silly swads* be still: 
To court, young way, and wanton there thy fill ! 



DITTY. 

Obscure and dark is all the gloom}' air, 
The curtain of the night is overspread ; 
The silent mistress of the lowest sphere 
Puts on her sable-colored veil, and lours. 
Nor star, nor milk-white circle of the sky 
Appears, where Discontent doth hold her lodge. 
She sits shrined in a canopy of clouds, 
Whose massy darkness mazeth every sense. 
Wan are her looks, her cheeks of azure hue; 
Her hairs as Gorgon's foul retorting snakes; 
Env}^ the glass wherein the hag doth gaze ; 
Restless the clock that chimes her fast asleep; 
Disquiet thoughts the minutes of her watch. 
Forth from her cave the fiend full oft doth fly: 
To kings she goes, and troubles them with crowns, 
Setting those high aspiring brands on fire, 
That flame from earth unto the seat of Jove ; 
To such as Midas, men that doat on wealth, 

* All (nn;)ty-lieii(le(l foolisli fellow — from a peascod sbell, called, in some 
country dialects, a swad. 



ROBERT GREENE. 39 

And rent the bowels of the middle earth 

For colli, who .i^ape as did fnir Danae 

For showers of gold, there Discontent in black 

Throws forth the vials of her restless cares; 

To such as sit at Paphos for relief, 

.A.nd offer V3iius many solemn tows ; 

To sncli as liymen in his saffron robe 

Hath knit a Gordian knot of passions ; 

To these, to all, parting the gloomy air, 

Black Discontent doth make her bad repair. 



SONNET. 

In Cyprus sat fair Venus by a fount, 
" Wanton Adonis toying on her knee: 
She kissed the wag, her darling of accoitnt,- 
The boy 'gan blush, which wnen iiis lover see, 
She smiled, and told him love might challenge deot. 
And he was young, and might be wanton yet. 

The boy waxed bold, fired by fond desire, 

That woo he could and court her witL conceit: 
Reason spied this, and sought to quench the nre 
With cold disdain ; but wily Adon straight 
Cheered up the flame, and said, "Good sir, what let"? 
I am but young, and may be wanton yet." 

Reason replied, that beauty was a bane 

To such as feed their fanc}^ with fond love, 
That when sweet youth with lust is overta'en. 
It rues in age : this could not Adon move, 
For Venus taught him still this rest to set. 
That he was young, and might be wanton yet. 

Where Venus strikes Avitli beauty to the quick, 

It little 'vails sage Reason to reph^ ; 
Few are the cares for such as are love-sick, 
But love: thei], though I wanton it awry, 
And play the wag, from Adon this I get, 
I am but 3"oung, and may be wanton yet. 



40 POEMS OF 

SONNET. 

IN ANSWER TO THE PRECEDING. 

The Siren Venus nourished in her lap 

Fair Aclon, swearing whiles he was a youth 
He might be wanton: note his after-hap, 
The guerdon that such lawless lust ensu'th ; 
So long he followed flattering Venus' lore, 
Till, seely lad, he perished by a boar. 

Mars in his youth did court this lusty dame, 

He won her love ; what might his fancy let. 
He was but young? At last, unto his shame, 
Vulcan entrapped them slily in a net, 
And called the gods to witness as a truth, 
A lecher's fault was not excused by youth. 

If crooked age accounteth youth his spring. 
The spring, the fairest season of the j^ear, 
Enriched with flowers, and sweets, and many a thing, 
That fair and gorgeous to the eyes aj^pear; 
It fits that youth, the spring of man, should be 
'Riched with such flowers as virtue yieldeth thee. 



SONNET. 



Fair is niy love, for April in her face. 

Her lovely breasts September claims his part. 
And lordly July in her eyes takes place, 
But cold December dwelleth in her heart.- 
Blest be the months, that set my thoughts on fire, 
Accurst that month that hindereth my desire ! 

Like Phoebus' fire, so sparkle botli her eyes ; 
As air perfumed w^ith amber is her breath; 
Like swelhng waves, her lovely teats do rise ; 
As earth her heart, cold, dateth me to death: 
Ah me, poor man, that on the earth do live. 
When unkind earth death and despair doth give! 



ROBERT GREENE. ^ 41 

In pomp sits mercy seated in her face ; 

Love 'twixt her breasts his trophies doth imprint, 
Her eyes shine favor, courtesy, and grace ; 

Bat touch her heart, ah, that is framed of flint! 
Therefore my harvest in the grass bears grain ; 
The rock will wear, washed with a winter's rain. 



SONNET. 



Phillis kept sheep along the western plains, 
And Coridon did feed his flocks hard by: 
This shepherd was the flower of all the swains 
That traced the downs of fruitful Thessaly, 
And PhilHs, that did far her flocks surpass 
In silver hue, was thought a bonny lass. 

A bonny lass, quaint in her country 'tire. 
Was lovely Phillis, Coridon swore so ; 
Her locks, her looks, did set the swain on fire, 
He left his lambs, and he began to woo ; 
He looked, he sighed, he courted with a kiss, 
No better could the silly swad than this 

He little knew to paint a tale of love, 

Shepherds can fancy, but they can not say: 
Phillis 'gan smile, and wily thought to prove 
AVhat uncouth grief poor Coridon did pay : 
She asked him how his flocks or he did fare, 
Yet pensive thus his sighs did tell his care. 

The shepherd blushed when Phillis questioned so, 

And swore by Pan it was not for his flocks : 
" 'Tis love, fair Phillis, breedeth all this woe. 

My thoughts are trapped within thy lovely locks, 
Thine eye hath pierced, thy face hath set on fire ; 
Fair Phillis kindleth Coridon's desire." 



42 rOK3L^ OF 

"Can shepherds love?" said Phillis to the swain; 

"Such saints as PhilHs," Coridon rephed; 
"Men when they hist can many fancies feign," 
Said Philhs ; this not Coridon denied, 
"That hist had Hes, but love," quoth he, "says truth: 
Thy shepherd loves, — then, Philiis, what ensu'th?" 

Phillis was won, she blushed and hung the head; 

The swain stepped to, and cheered her with a kiss; 
With faith, with troth, they struck the matter dead ; 
So used they when men thought not amiss*. 
This love begun and ended both in one ; 
Phillis was loved, and she liked Coridon. 



FBOM PANDOSTO. 



THE PRAISE OF FAWNIA. 

Ah, were she pitiful as she is fair. 

Or but as mild as she is seeming so. 
Then were my hopes greater than my despair, 

Then all the w^orld were heaven, nothing woe. 
Ah, were her heart relenting as her hand. 

That seems to melt even with the mildest touch, 
Then knew I wdiere to seat me in a land. 

Under wide heavens, but yet [I know] not such. 
So as she shows, she seems the budding rose, 

Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower. 
Sovereign of beaut}^ like the spray she grows. 

Compassed she is with thorns and cankered flower, 
Yet were she willing to be plucked and worn. 
She would be gathered, though she grew on thorn. 

Ah, when she sings, all music else be still, 
For none must be compared to her note; 

Ne'er breathed such glee from Philomela's bill. 
Nor from the morning-singer's swelling throat. 



ROBERT GREENE. 43 

Ah, when she riseth from her blissful bed, 
She comforts all the world, as doth the snn, 

And at her sight the night's foul vapor's fled ; 
AMien she is set, the gladsome day is done. 

Oh glorious sun, imagine me the west. 

Shine in my arms, and set thou in my breast! 



BELLARIA'S EPITAPH. 

Here lies entombed Bellaria fair, 
Falsely accused to be unchaste ; 

Cleared by Apollo's sacred doom, 
Yet slain by jealous}' at last. 

Whate'er thou be that passest b}^ 

Curse him that caused this Queen to die. 



FROM NEVER TOO LATE. 



AN ODE. 

Down the valley "gan he track, 
Bag and bottle at his back. 
In a surcoat ail of gray ; 
Such wear palmers on the way, 
When wath scrip and staff they see 
Jesus' grave on Calvary; 
A hat of straw, like a swain. 
Shelter for the sun and rain, 
With a scallop-shell before ; 
Sandals on his feet he wore ; 
Legs were bare, arms unclad, 
Such attire this palmer had. 
His face fair like Titan's shine; 
Gray and buxom were his eyne, 
Whereout dropped pearls of sorrow: 
Such sweet tears love doth borrow. 
When in outward dews she plains 
Heart's distress that lovers pains ; 
Ruby lips, cherry cheeks: 
^uch rare mixture Yenus seeks. 



44 POEMS OF 

"When to keep her damsels quiet, 
Beauty sets them down their diet. 
Aden was not thought more fair; 
Curled locks of amber hair, 
Locks where love did sit and twine 
Nets to snare the gazer's eyne. 
Such a palmer ne'er was seen, 
'Less Love himself had palmer been. 
Yet, for all he was so quaint, 
Sorrow did his visage taint: 
'Midst the riches of his face, 
Grief decyphered high disgrace. 
Every step strained a tear ; 
Sudden sighs showed his fear; 
And yet his fear by his sight 
Ended in a strange delight ; 
That his i^assions did approve, 
Weeds and sorrow were for love. 



THE PALMER'S ODE. 

Old Menalcas. on a daj", 

As in field this shepherd lay. 

Tuning of bis oaten pipe, 

"Which he hit with mau}^ a stripe, 

Said to Coridon that he 

Once was young and full of glee. 

"Blithe and wanton was Tthen: 

Such desires follow men. 

As I lay and kept my sheep. 

Came the god that hateth sleep, 

Clad in armor all of fire, 

Hand in hand with queen Desire, 

And with a dart that wounded nigh. 

Pierced m.j heart as I did lie ; 

That when I woke I 'gan to swear 

Phillis beauty's palm did bear. 

Up I start, forth went I, 

With her face to feed mine eye; 



nOBEBT GREENE. 45 

There I saw Desire sit, 
That my heart with love had hit, 
Laying forth bright beauty's hooks 
To entrap my gazing looks. 
Love I did, and 'gan to woo. 
Pray and sigh ; all would not do: 
Women, when they take the toy, 
Covet to be counted coy. 
Coy she was, and I 'gan court ; 
She thought love was but a sport; 
Profound hell was in my thought; 
Such a pain desire had wrought, 
That I sued with sighs and tears; 
Still ingrate she stop^^ed her ears, 
Till mj' 3'outli I had spent. 
Last a passion of repent 
Told me flat, that Desii'e 
Was a brand of love's fire, 
Which consumeth men in thrall, 
Virtue, youth, wit, and all. 
At this saw, back I start. 
Bet Desire from my heart, 
Shook off Love, and made an oath 
To be enemy to both. 
Old I was when thus I fled 
Such fond toys as cloyed my head. 
But this I learned at Virtues gate, 
The way to good is never late." 



THE HERMET'S VERSES. 
Here look my son, for no vainglorious shows 
Of royal apparition for the eye : 
Humble and meek befitteth men of years. 
Behold my cell, built in a silent shade, 
Holdi'ig content for poverty" and peace. 
And in my lodge is fealty and faith, 
Labor and love united in one league. 
I want not, for my mind affordeth wealth 
I know not envy, for I climb not high: 
Thus do I live, and thus I mean to die. 



46 POEMS OF 

If that the world presents ilhisions, 

Or Sathaii seeks to pnff me up with pomp, 

As man is frail and apt to follow pride ; 

Then see, my son, where I have in my cell 

A dead man's skull, which calls this straight to mind. 

That as this is, so must my ending be. 

When then I see that earth to earth must pass, 

I sigh, and say, all flesh is like to grass. 

If care to live, or sweet delight in life, 
As man desires to see out many days, 
Draws me to listen to the flattering world ; 
Then see my glass, which swiftly out doth run, 
Compared to man, who dies ere he begins. 
This tells me, time slacks not his posting course, 
But as the glass runs out with every hour. 
Some in their youth, some in their weakest age, 
All sure to die, but no man knows his time. 
By this I think, how vain a thing is man. 
Whose longest life is likened to a span. 

When Satlian seeks to sift me with his wiles, 
Or proudly dares to give a fierce assault, 
To make a shipwreck of my faith with fears ; 
Then armed at all points to withstand the foe, 
With holy armor; here's the martial sword: 
This book, this bible, this two-edged blade, 
Wliose sweet content pierceth the gates of hell, 
Decyphering laws and discipline of war 
To overthrow the strength of Sathan's jar. 



ISABEL'S ODE. 



Sitting by a river side. 
Where a silent stream did glide. 
Banked about with choice flowers, 
Such as S| ring from A2")ril showers, 
When fair Iris smring shows 
All her riches in her dews: 



ROBERT GREENE. 47 

Thick-leaved trees so were planted, 
As nor art nor Nature wanted, 
Bordering all tlie brook with shade^ 
As if Venus there had made. 
By Flora's wile, a curious bower, 
To dally with her paramour ; 
At this current as I gazed, 
Eyes entrapped, mind amazed, 
I might see in my keu 
Such a flame as iirt,th men. 
Such a fire as doth fry 
With one blaze doth heart and eye, 
Such a heat as doth prove 
No heat like to heat of love. 
Bright she was, for 'twas a she 
That traced her steps toward me ; 
On her head she wore a bay. 
To fence Phoebus' light away : 
In her face one might descry 
The curious beauty of the sky : 
Her eyes carried darts of fire. 
Feathered all with swift desire; 
Yet forth these fiery darts did pass 
Pearled tears as bright as glass. 
That wonder 'twas in her ejne, 
Fire and water should combine, 
If the old sav/ did not borrow. 
Fire is love, and water sorrow. 
Down she sate, pale and sad; 
No mirth in her looks she had ; 
Face and eyes showed distress. 
Inward sighs discoursed no lesss 
Head on hand might I see, 
Elbow leaned on her knee. 
Lost she breathed out this saw, 
"Oh that love hath no law! 
Love enforceth with constraint, 
Love delighleth in complaint. 
Whoso loves, hates his life. 
For love's peace is mind's strife. 



POEMS OF 

Love doth feed on beauty's fare, 

Eveiy dish sauced with care: 

Chiefly wome]i, reason why, 

Love is hatched in their eye; 

Thence it steppeth to the heart. 

There it poisoneth every part, 

Mind and heart, eye and thought. 

Till sweet love their woes hath wrought' 

Then repentant they 'gan cry, 

Oh, my heart that trowed mine eye ! " 

Thus she said, and then she rose, 

Face and mind both full of woes: 

Flinging thence with this saw, 

"Fie on love that hath no law!" 



FRANCESCO'S ODE, 

!Wlien I look about the jilace 
Where sorrow nurseth up disgrace, 
Wrapped wdthin a fold of cares. 
Whose distress no heart spares ; 
Eyes might look, but see no light. 
Heart might think but on despite; 
Sun did shine, but not on me. 
Sorrow sptid, it may not be 
That heart or eye should once possess 
Any salve to cure distress ; 
For men in prison must supjDose 
Their couches are the beds of woes. 
Seeing this, I sighed then 
Fortune thus should punish men : 
But when I called to mind her face, 
For whose love I brook this place. 
Starry eyes, whereat my sight 
Did eclipse with much delight. 
Eyes that lighten, and do shine, 
Beams of love that are divine, 
Lil}^ cheeks, whereon beside 
Buds of roses show their pride, 



nOBBUT QUEEN E. 49 

Cherry lips, which did speak 
Words that made all hearts to break, 
Words most sweet, for breath was sweet 
Such perfume for love is meet, 
Pecious words, as hard to tell 
Which more pleased, wit or smell; 
When I saw my greatest pains 
Grow for her that beauty stains, 
Fortune thus I did reprove, 
Nothing grieffull grows from love. 



CANZONE. 

As then the sun sat lordly in his pride, 
Not shadowed with the veil of any cloud, 
The welkin had no rack that seemed to glide, 
No dusky vapor did bright Phoebus shroud; 
No blemish did eclipse the beauteous sky 
From setting forth heaven's secret searching eye. 
No blustering wind did shake the shady trees. 
Each leaf lay still and silent in the wood ; 
The birds were musical ; the laboring bees, 
That in the summer heap their winter's food. 
Plied to their hives sweet honey from those flowers. 
Whereout the serpent strengthens all his powers. 
The lion laid and stretched him in the lawns; 
No storm did hold the leopard fro his prey ; 
The fallow fields were full of wanton fawns; 
The plow-swains never saw a fairer day; 
For every beast and bird did take delight, 
To see the quiet heavens to shine so bright. 
When thus the winds lay sleeping in the caves. 
The air was silent in her concave sphere, 
And Neptune, with a calm did please his slaves, 
Ready to wash the never-drenched bear; 
Then did the change of my affects begin, 
^nd wanton love essayed to snare me in. 
Leaning my back against a lofty pine, 
Whose top did check the pride of all the air, 



60 POEMS OF 

Fixing my tlioug-hts,and with my thoughts mine eyne, 
Upon the sun, the fairest of ail fair ; 

What thing made God so fair as this? quoth I. 

And thus I mused until I darked mine Qje. 
Finding the sun too glorious for my sight, 
I glanced my look to shun so bright a lamp : 
With that appeared an object twice as bright, 
So gorgeous as my senses all were damp ; 

In Ida richer beauty did not win, 

When lovely Venus showed her silver skin. 

Her pace was like to Juno's pompous strains, [way; 
Whenas she sweejDs through heaven's brass-paved 
Her front was powdered through with azured veins, 
That 'twixt sweet roses and fair lilies lay, 

Reflecting such a mixture from her face. 

As tainted Venus' beauty with disgrace. 
Arctophylax, the brightest of the stars. 
Was not so orient as her cr3'stal eyes, 
Wherein triumphant sat both peace and wars, 
From out whose arches such sweet favor flies 

As might reclaim Mars in his highest rage. 

At beauty's charge his fury to assuage. 

The diamond gleams not more reflecting lights, 
Pointed with hery pyramids to shine. 
Than are those flames that burnish in our sights. 
Darting fire out the crystal of her eyne, 

Able to set Narcissus' thoughts on fire. 

Although he swore him foe to sweet desire 
Gazing uj^on this leman wath mine eye, 
I felt my sight vail bonnet to her looks; 
So deep a passion to my heart did fly. 
As I was trapped within her luring hooks, 

Forced to confess, before that I had done, 

Her beauty far more brighter than the sun. 




ROBERT GREENE. 51 

INFIDA'S SONG. 

Sweet Adon, clar'st not glance thine eye,— - 
Woserez vgus, mo7i bel ami? 
Upon thy Venus that must die? 

Je vous en prle^ pity me ; 
N'oserez vous, mon bel, onon bel, 
Noserez vous, mon bel ami? 

See how sad thy Venus Hes, — 

N'oserez vous, nioji bel ami? 
Love in heart, and tears in eyes ; 

»/e vous, en 2^rie, pity me : 
N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

Tliy face as fair as Paphos" brooks, — - 
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami? — 

Wherein fancy baits her hooks ; 
Je vous en jyrle, pity me ; 

N'oserez vous, ynon bel, mon bel, 

N'oserez vous, mo7i bel arnif 

Thy cheeks hke cherries that do grow,— - 

JSf'oserez vous, mon bel ami? — 
Amongst the western mounts of snow,- 

Je vous en 2)vie, pity me; 
N^'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

Thy hps vermiHon, full of love, — 

N'oserez vous, mon bel ami? — 
Thy neck as silver- white as dove ; 

Je vous en prie, pity me ; 
N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

Thine eyes, like flames of holy fires, — 
N'oserez vous, ynon bel ami? — 

Burn all my thoughts with sweet desires ; 
Je vous en prie, pity me; 

JSf'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 

N'oserez vous, mon bel ami ? 



52 POEMS OF 

All thy beauties sting my heart,— 
N'oserez vous, mori hel atnif — 

I must die through Cupid's dart: 
Je vous en prie, pity me ; 

N'oserez vous, nio)i bel, mon beU 

N'oserez vous, mo7i bel ami? 

Wilt thou let thy Venus die? 

N'oserez vous, tnon bel atnif —^ 
Adon were unkind, say I, — 

Je vous en prie, pity me ; 
N'oserez vous, mon bel, nion bel, 
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

To let fair Venus die for woe, — 
N'oserez vous, mon bel atnif— 

That doth love sweet Adon so ; 
Je vous en prie, pity me ; 

N'oserez vous, mon bel, inon bel. 

IToserez vous, mon bel aimif 



FRANCESCO'S ROUNDELAY. 

Sitting and sighing in my secret muse, 
As once Apollo did, surj)rised with love, 
Noting the slippery ways young years do use, 
What fpnd affects the prime of youth do move; 
With bitter tears despairing I do cry, 
Wo worth the faults and follies of mine eye ! 
When wanton age, the blossoms of my time, 
Drew me to gaze upon the gorgeous sight, 
That beauty, pompous in her highest prime. 
Presents to tangle men with sweet delight, 
Then with despairing tears my thoughts do cry, 
Wo worth the faults and follies of mine eye! 
When I surveyed the riches of her looks, 
Whereout flew flames of never-quench'd desire. 
Wherein lay baits that Venus snares with hook^ 
Or where proud Cupid sat all armed with fire; 



ROBERT GREENE. 53 

Then touched with love my inward soul did cry, 
Wo worth the faults and follies of mine eye ! 
The milk-white galaxia of her brow, 
Where love doth dance lavoltas of his skill, 
Like to the temple where true lovers vow 
To follow what shall please their mistress' will ; 
Noting her ivory front, now do I cry, 
Wo worth the faults and follies of mine eye! 
Her face, like silver Luna in her shine. 
All tainted through with bright vermilion strains. 
Like lihes dipt in Bacchus' choicest wine. 
Powdered and interseamed with azured veins ; 
Delighting in their pride, now may I cry, 
Wo worth the faults and follies of mine eye! 
The golden wires that checker in the da}^, 
Inferior to the tresses of her hair. 
Her amber trammels did my heart dismay, 
That when I looked I durst not over-dare; 
Proud of her pride, novv^ am I forced to cry 
Wo worth the faults and follies of mine eye ! 
These fading beauties drew me on to sin. 
Nature's great riches framed my bitter ruth ; 
These were the traps that love did snare me in. 
Oh, these, and none but these, have wrecked my 
youth ! 
Misled by them, I may despairing cry, 
Wo worth the faults and follies of mine eye! 
By these I slipped from virtue's holy track. 
That leads unto the highest crystal sphere; 
By these I fell to vanity and wrack. 
And as a man forlorn with sin and fear. 
Despair and sorrow doth constrain me cry. 
Wo worth the faults and follies of mine eyel 



THE PENITENT PALMER'S ODE, 

Whilom in the winter's rage, 
A palmer old and full of age. 
Sat and thought upon his youth, 
With eyes' tears, and heart's ruthi 



POEMS OF 

Being all with cares j'-blent, 

When he thought on years mispent. 

"When his follies came to mind, 

How fond love liad made him blind. 

And v/rapped him in a held of woes, 

Shadowed with pleasure's shows, 

Then he sighed, and said, "Alas, 

Man is sin, and flesh is grass! 

I thought my mistress' hairs were gold^ 

And in their locks my beart I fold; 

Her amber tresses were the sight 

That wrapped me in vain delight: 

Her ivory front, her pretty chin, 

Were stales that drew me on to sin: 

Her starry looks, her crystal eyes, 

Brighter than the sun's arise. 

Sparkling pleasing liames of fire. 

Yoked my thoughts and my desire, 

That I 'gan cry ere I blin. 

Oh, her eyes are paths to sin ! 

Her face was fair, her breath was sweety 

All her looks for love were meet; 

But love is folly, this I know, 

And beauty fadeth like to snow. 

Oh, why should man delight in pride. 

Whose blossom like a dew doth glide ! 

When these supposes touched my thought 

That world was vain and beauty nought, 

I 'gan sigh, and say, alas, 

Man is sin, and flesh is grass ! " 



ISABEL'S SONNET 

THAT SHE MADE IN PRISON. 



No storm so sharp to rend the little reed, 
For sild it breaks though every way it bend ; 
The fire may heat but not consume the flint; 
The gold in furnace purer is indeed; 



IIOBERT GllEENE, 55 

Report, tbat sild to honor is a friend, 
Miy many lies against true meaning mint, 

But yet at last 

'Gainst slander's blast 
Truth doth the silly sackless soul defend. 

Though false reproach seeks honor to disdain, 
And envy bites the bud though ne'er so pure; 
Though lust doth seek to blemish chaste desire, 
Yet truth that brooks not falsehood's slanderous st;an„ 
Nor can the spite of envy's wrath endure, 
Will try true love from lust in justice' lire, 

And, maugre all, 

Will free from thrall 
The guiltless soul that keeps his footing sure. 

Where innocence triumpheth in her prime. 
And guilt can not approach the honest mind ; 
Where chaste intent is free from any miss. 
Though envy strive, yet searching time 
With piercing insight will the truth outiind. 
And make discovery who the guilty is ; 

For time still tries 

The truth from lies, 
And God makes open what the world doth blind. 



FRANCESCO'S SONNET, 

MADE IN THE PRIME OF HIS PENANCE. 

With sweating brows I long have ploughed the sands; 

My seed was youth, my crop was endless care ; 

Repent hath sent me home with empt}^ hands 

At last, to tell how rife our follies are : 
And time hath left experience to approve 
The gain is grief to those that traffic love. 

The silent thoughts of my repentant years 
That fill my head have called me home at last ; 



56 



POEMS OF 



Now love unmasked a wanton wretch appears. 
Begot by guileful tiionglit with over haste ; 
In prime of youth a rose, in age a weed, 
That for a minute's joy pays endless need. 

Dead to delights, a foe to fond conceit, 
Allied to ^N\i by want and sorrow bought, 
Farewell, fond youth, long fostered in deceit; 
Forgive me, time, disguised in idle thought ; 
And, love, adieu. Lo, hasting to mine end, 
I find no time too late for to amend ! 



FRANCESCO'S SONNET, 

CALLED HIS PARTING BLOW. 

Reason, that long in prison of my will 

Hast w^ept thy mistress' wants and loss of time, 

Thy wonted siege of honor safely climb, 

To thee I yield as guilty of mine ill. 

Lo, fettered in their tears mine eyes are pressed 

To pay due homage to their native guide: 

My wretched heart wounded with bad betide 

To crave his peace from reason is addressed. 

My thoughts ashamed, since by themselves consumed 

Have done their duty to repentant wit : 

Ashamed of all, sweet guide, I sorry sit. 

To see in youth how I too far presumed. 

Thus he wdiom love and error did betray, 

Subscribes to thee, and takes the better way. 




ROBERT GREENE. 57 

EURYMACHUS' FANCY IN THE PRIME OF HIS 
AFFECTION. 

When lordly Saturn, in a sable robe, 

Sat full of frowns and mourning in the west, 

The evening star scarce peeped from oat her lodge, 

And Phoebus newly galloped to his rest; 

Even then 

Did I 
Within my boat sit in the silent streams, 
All void of cares as he that lies and dreams. 

As Phaon, so a ferryman I was ; 

The country lasses said I was to-.; fair: 

AYith easy toil I labored at mine oar. 

To pass from side to side who did repair; 

And then 

Did I 
For pains take pence, and, Charon-like, transj^ort 
As soon the swain as men of high import. 

When want of work did give me leave to rest, 
My sport was matching of the wanton fish : 
So did I w^ear the tedious time away, 
And with my labor mended oft my dish ; 

For why 

I thought 
That idle hourn 5\"ere calendars of ruth, 
And time ill-spent was prejudice to youth. 

I scorned to love; for were the nymph as fair 
As she that loved the beauteous Latmian swan. 
Her face, her eyes, her t;- ^sses, nor her brows, 
Like ivory, could my aflection gain ; 

For W'hy 

I said 
With high disdain, love is a base desire, 
And Cupid's flames, why, they're but watery fire. 



58 POEMS OF 

As thus I sal, disdaming of proud love, 
'•Have over, fenyman," there cried a boyi 
And with him was a paragon for hue, 
A lovely damsel, beauteous and coy; 

And there 

With her 
A maiden, covered with a tawny veil. 
Her face unseen for breeding lovers' bale. 

I stirred my boat, and when I came to shore. 
The boy was winged : methought it was a wonder ; 
The dame had eyes like lightning, or the flash 
That runs before the hot report of thunder; 

Ker smiles 

Were sweet, 
Lovely her face ; w^as ne'er so fair a creature, 
For earthly carcass had a heavenly feature. 

"My friend," quoth she, "sweet ferryman, behold, 
We three must jmss, but not a farthing fare ; 
But I will give, for I am queen of love. 
The brightest lass thou lik'st unto thy share ; 

Choose where 

Thou lov'st, 
Be she as fair as Love's sweet lady is. 
She shall be thine, if that will be thy bliss." 

With that she smiled with such a pleasing face, 
As might have made the marble rock relent; 
Bill I that triumphed in disdain of love. 
Bad lie on him that to fond love w^as bent, 

And then 

Said thus, 
"So light the ferryman for love doth care, 
As Venus jDass not, if she pay no fare!" 

At tins a frown sat on her angry brow; 
She winks upon her wanton son hard by; 



ROBERT QREENiJ. 59 

He from his quiver drew a bolt of fire, 

And aimed so rigiit as that he pierced mine eye; 

And then 

Did she 
Draw down the veil that hid the virq-in's face, 
AVliose heavenly beauty lightened all the place. 

Straight then I leaned mine ear upon mine arm. 
And looked upon the nymph (if so) was fair ; 
Her eyes were stars, and like Apollo's locks 
Methought appeared the trammels of her hair; 

Thus did 

I gaze, 
And sucked in beauty, till that sweet desire 
Cast fuel on, and set my thought on fire. 

When I was lodged within the net of love, 
And that they saw my heart was all on flame. 
The nymph away, and with her trips along 
The winged boy, and with her goes his dame: 

Oh. then 

I cried, 
"Stay, ladies, stay, and take not any care; 
You all shall pass, and pay no penny fare ! " 

Away they fling, and looking cojdy back, 
They laugh at me, oh, with a loud disdain ! 
I send out sighs to overtake the nymphs, 
And tears, as lures, to call them back again ; 

But they 

Fiy thence ; 
And I sit in my boat, with hand on oar. 
And feel a pain, but know not what's the sore. 

At last I feel it is the flame of love, 
I strive but bootless to expi'ess the pain : 
It cools, it fires, it hopes, it fears, it frets. 
And stirreth passions throughout every vein ; 

That down 

I sat. 
And sighing did fair Venus' laws approve, 
And swore no thing so sweet and sour as love. 



m POEMS OF 

RADAGON'S S NNET. 

No clear appeared upon the azured sky; 

A veil of storms had shadowed Phoebus' facCj 

And in a sable mantle of diso-race 

Sate he that is y-cleped heaven's bright eye, 

As though that he, 
Perplexed for Clytia, meant to leave his place. 
And wrapped in sorrows did resolve to die. 
For death to lovers' woes is ever nig-h ; 
Thus folded in a hard and mournful laze 

Distressed sate he. 

A misty fog had thickened all the air; 
Iris sate solemn and denied her showers; 
Flora in tawny hid up all her flowers, 
And would not diaj^er her meads with fair, 

As though that she 
Were armed U23on the barren earth to lour ; 
Unto the founts Diana mild repair, 
But sate, as overshadowed with despair. 
Solemn and sad within a withered bower, 

Her nymphs and she. 

Mars malcontent lay sick on Venas' knee; 
Venus in dumps sat muffled with a frown ; 
Juno laid all her frolic humors down. 
And Jove was all in dumps as w^ell as she ; 

'Twas fate's decree; 
For Neptune, as he meant the world to drown, 
Heaved up his surges to the highest tree. 
And, leagued with ^ol, marred the seaman's glee^ 
Beating the cedars with his billows down; 

Thus wroth was he. 

My mistress deigns to show her sun-bright face. 
The air cleared up, the clouds did fade away ; 
Phoebus was frolic, when she did display 
The gorgeous beauties that her front do grace: 
So that when she 



ROBERT GREENE. 61 

But walked abroad, the storms then fled away ; 
Flora did chequer all her treading place, 
And Neptune calmed the surges with his mace ' 
Diana and her nymphs were blithe and gay 
When her thev see. 

Venus and Mars agreed in a smile, 
And jealous Juno ceased now to lour; 
Jove saw her face and sighed in his bower; 
Iris and ^ol laugh within a while 

To see this glee. 
Ah, born was she within a happy hour. 
That makes heaven, earth, and gods, and all, to smile. 
Such wonders can her beauteous looks compile, 
To clear the world from any fro ward lour ; 

Ah, blest be she ! 



EURYMACHUS IN LAUDEM MIRIMID>E. 

When Flora, proud in pomp of all her flowers, 

Sat bright and gay. 
And gloried in the dew of Iris' showers, 

And did display 
Her mantle chequered all with gaudy green ; 

Then I 

Alone 
A mournful man in Erecine was seen. 

With folded arms I trampled through the grass. 

Tracing as he 
That held the throne of Fortune brittle glass, 

And love to be. 
Like Fortune, fleeting as the restless wind, 

Mixed 

With mists. 
Whose damp doth make the clearest eyes grow blind. 



62 POEMS Oi/' 

Thus in a maze, I spied a hideous flame ; 

I cast my sight 
And saw where blithely bathing in the same. 

With great delight, 
A worm did lie, wrapped in a smoky sweat, 

And yet 

'Twas strange, 
It careless lay and shrunk not at the heat. 



I stood amazed and wondering at the sight. 

While that a dame. 
That shone like to the heaven's rich sparkling light 

Discoursed the same ; 
And said, my friend, this worm within the fire. 

Which lies 

Content, 
Is Venus' worm, and represents desire. 

A salamander is this princely beast : 

Decked with a crown. 
Given him by Cupid as a gorgeous crest 

'Gainst fortune's frown. 
Content he lies and bathes him in the flame, 

And goes 

Not forth. 
For why, he can not live without the same. 

As he, so lovers lie within the fire 

Of fervent love. 
And shrink not from the flame of hot desire. 

Nor will not move 
From any heat that Venus' force imparts, 

But lie 

Content 
Within a fire, and waste away their hearts. 



ROBERT GREENE. bd 

Up flew the dame, and vanished m a cloud, 

Eiit there stood I, 
And many thoughts within my mind did shroud 

Of love: for vrhy. 
I felt within my heart a scorching fire, 

And yet, 

As did 
The salamander, 'twas my whole desire. 



RADAGON IN DIANAM. 

It was a valley gaudy green, 
Where Dian at the fount was seen ? 

Green it was. 

And did pass 
All other of Diana's bowers, 
In the pride of Flora's flowers. 

A fount it was that no sun sees, 
Circled in with cypress trees, 

Set so nigh 

As Phoebus' eye 
Could not do the virgins scathe, 
To see them naked when they bathe. 

She sat there all in white, 
Color fitting her delight; 

Virgins so 

Ought to go, 
For white in armory is placed 
To be the color that is chaste. 

Her taffata cassock might you see 
Tucked up above her knee. 

Which did show 

There below. 
Legs as white as whale's bone; 
So white and ch.-.bte were never none. 



POEMS OF 

Hard by, upon the ground, 
Sat her virgins in a round, 

Bathing their 

Gohlen hair, 
And singing all in notes high, 
Fie on Venus' flattering eye : 

Fie on love, it is a toy; 
Cupid witless and a boy ; 

All his fires. 

And desires. 
Are plagues that God sent down from highc 
To pester men with misery. 

As thus the virgins did disdain 
Lovers' joys and lovers' pain, 

Cupid nigh, 

Did espy, 
Grieving at Diana's song, 
Slyly stole these maids among. 

His bow of steel, darts of fire. 

He shot amongst them sweet desire, 

Which straight flies 

In their eyes. 
And at the entrance made them start? 
¥or it ran from eye to heart. 

Calisto straight supposed Jove 
"Was fair and frolic for to love; 

Dian she 

'Scaped not free. 
For, well I wot, hereupon 
She loved the swain Endymion; 

Ciytia, Phoebus ; and Chloris' eye 
Thought none so fair as Mercury s 

Venus thus 

Did discuss 
By her son in darts of fire. 
None so chaste to check desire. 



ROBERT GREENE. 65 

Dian rose with all her maids, 
Blushiiin^ thus at love's braids : 

With sighs, all 

Show their thrall; 
And flinging hence pronounce this saw, — 
What so strong as love's sweet law*? 



MULIDOR'S MADRIGAL. 

Bildido, dildido. 
Oh love, oh love, 
I feel thy rage rumble below and above! 

In summer time I saw a face, 

Trojy helle pour r.ioi^ helas^ helas! 

Like to a stoned horse was her pace : 
Was ever young man so dismayed? 

Her eyes, like wax torches, did make me afraid 
Trop belle pour nioi, voila mon trepas. 

Thy beaut}', my love, exceedeth supposes ; 
Thy hair is a nettle for tae nicest roses. 

3fon Dleu, aide mo if 
That I with the primrose of my fresh wit 
May tumble her tyranny under my feet: 

lie! doncje serai unjeune roL 
Trop helle ptour rnoi^ helas., helas! 
Trop helle pour mot, voila tnofi ,trep)as. 



THE PALMER'S VERSES. 

In greener years, whenas ray greedy thoughts 
'Gan yield their homage to ambitious will, 

My feeble wit, that then prevailed noughts, 
Perforce presented homage to his ill ; 

And I in folly's bonds fultllled with crime. 

At last unloosed, thus spied my loss of time. 



66 POEMS OF 

As in his circular and ceaseless ray 

The year begins, and in itself returns. 
Refreshed by presence of the eye of day, 

That sometimes nigh and sometimes far sojourns*, 
So love in me, conspiring my decay, 

With endless fire my heedless bosom burns, 
And from the end of my aspiring sin, 
My paths of error hourly do begin. 

ARIES. 

Wlien in the Ram the sun renews his beams. 
Beholding mournful earth arrayed in grief, 

That waits relief from his refreshing gleams. 
The tender flocks, rejoicing their relief. 

Do leap for joy and lap the silver streams: 
So at my prime when youth in me was chief, 

All heifer-iike, with wanton horn I played, 

And all my will my wit to love betrayed. 

TAURUS. 

Wlien Phoebus wdth Europa's bearer bides. 
The spring appears ; impatient of delays, 

The laborer to the fields his plow-swains guides, 
He sows, he plants, he builds, at all assays: 

When prime of years that many errors hides. 
By fancy's force did trace ungodly ways, 

I blindfold walked, disdaining to behold 

That life doth fade, and young men must be old. 

GEMINI. 

When in the hold, w^iereas the Twins do rest. 
Proud Phlegon, breathing fire, doth post amain. 

The trees with leaves, the earth with flowers is dressed; 
When I in pride of years, with peevish brain, 

Presumed too far, and made fond love my guest, 
With frosts of care my flowers were nipt amain 

In hight of weal who bears a careless heart, 

Repents too late his over-foolish part. 



ROBERT GREENE. 67 

CANCER. 

Wlien in oestival Cancer's gloomy bower, 

The greater glor}' of the heavens doth shine, 

The air is cahn, the birds at every stowre 
Do tempt the heavens with harmony divine: 

When I was first enthralled in Cupid's power. 
In vain I spent the May-month of my time, 

Singing for joy to see me cajotive thrall 

To him, whose gains are grief, whose comfort small. 

LEO. 

When in the hight of his meridian walk, 
The Lion's hold contains the eye of day, 

The riping corn grows yellow in the stalk: 

When strength of years did bless me every way, 

Masked with delights of folly was my talk. 
Youth ripened all my thoughts to my decay; 

In lust I sowed, my fruit was loss of time ; 

My hopes were proud, and yet my body slime.* 

VIRGO. 

When in the Virgin's lap earth's comfort sleeps. 

Bating the fury of his burning eyes. 
Both corn and fruits are firmed, and comfort creeps 

On every plant and flower that springing rise: 
When age at last his chief dominion keeps, 

And leads me on to see my vanities, 
What love and scant foresight did make me sow, 
In youthful years is rij^end now in woe. 

LIBRA. 

When in the Balance Daj^hne's leman blins. 
The plowman gathereth fruit for passed pain: 

When I at last considered on my sins. 

And thought upon my youth and follies vain, 

I cast my count, and reason now begins 

To guide mine eyes with judgment, bought with pain, 

Which weeping wish a better way to find, 

Or else forever to the world be blind. 

* Slight, slim. 



68' POEMS OF 

SCORPIO. 

When with the Scorpion j^roiid Apollo plays, 
The vines ai'e trod and carried to their press, 

The woods are felled 'gainst winter's sharp affraj's: 
When graver years my judgments did address, 

I 'gan repair my ruins and decays, 

Exchanging will to wit and soothfastness. 

Claiming from time and age no good but this, 

To see my sin, and sorrow for my miss. 

SAGITTARIUS. 

Whenas the Ai'cher in his winter hold. 
The Delian harper tunes his wonted love. 

The plowman sows and tills his labored mold: 
When with advice and judgment I approve 

How love in youth hath grief for gladness sold, 
The seeds of shame I from my heart remove. 

And in their steads I set down plants of grace, 

And with repent bewailed my youthful race. 

CAPRICORNUS. 

When he that in Eurotas' silver glide 

Doth bain his iress, beholdeth Capricorn, 

The days grow short, then hastes the winter tide ; 
The sun with sparing lights doth seem to mourn ; 

Gray is the green, the flowers their beauty hide: 
Whenas I see that I to death was born. 

My strength decayed, my grave already dressed, 

I count my life my loss, my death my best. 

AQUARIUS. 

When with Aquarius Phoebe's brother stays, 

The blithe and wanton winds are whist and still ; 

Cold frost and snow the pride of earth betrays: 
When age my head with hoary hairs doth fill. 

Reason sits down, and bids me count my days. 
And pray for peace, and blame my forward will; 

In depth of grief, in this distress I cry, 

I^eccavL Domine. miserere 7nei ! 



ROBERT GREENS. 69 

PISCES. 

When in the Fishes' mansion Phoebus dwells, 
The days renew, the earth regains his rest: 
When old in years, my w^aiit my death foretells, 

My thoughts and i:>rayers to heaven are whole ad- 
Repentance youth by folly quite expels ; [dress'd ; 

I long to be dissolved for my best. 
That young in zeal, long beaten with my rod, 
I may grow old to wisdom and to God. 



FROM THE MOURNING GARMENT. 



DESCRIPTION OF THE SHEPHERD AND HIS WIFE, 

It was near a thicky shade. 

That broad leaves of beech had made, 

Joining all their tops S3 nigh. 

That scarce Phoebus in could pry. 

To see if lovers in the thick 

Could dally with a wantou trick; 

Where sat the swain and his wife, 

Sporting in that pleasing life 

That Coridon commendeth so. 

All other lives to overgo. 

He and she did sit and keep 

Flocks of kids and folds of sheep: 

He upon his pipe did play ; 

She tuned voice unto his lay, 

And, for you might her husvvdfe know". 

Voice did sing and fingers sew\ 

He was young : his coat was green. 

With welts of white seamed between. 

Turned over with a flap, 

That breast and bosom in did wrap. 

Skirts side and plighted free. 

Seemly hanging to his kuee: 

A whittle with a silver chape: 

Cloak was russet, and the cape 



70 POEMS OF 

Served for a bonnet oft 

To shrowd liim from the wet aloft: 

A leather scrip of color red, 

With a button on the head. 

A bottle full of country whig* 

By the shepherd's side did lig: 

And in a little bush hard by, 

There the shepherd's dog did lie, 

Who, while his master 'gan to sleep, 

Well could watch both kids and sheep. 

The shepherd was a frolic swain ; 

For though his 'parel was but plain, 

Yet doon the authors soothly say. 

His color was both fresh and gay, 

And in their writs plain discuss. 

Fairer was not Tityrus, 

Nor Menalcas, whom ih.Qj call 

The alderliefest swain of all. 

Seeming him was his wife. 

Both in line and in life : 

Fair she was as fair might be. 

Like the roses on the tree; 

Buxom, blithe, and young, I w^een, 

Beauteous like a summer's queen. 

For her cheeks were ruddy-hued. 

As if lilies were imbrued 

With drops of blood, to make the white 

Please the eye with more delight: 

Love did lie within her eyes 

In ambush for some wanton prize. 

A liefer lass than this had been 

Coridon had never seen, 

Nor was Phillis, that fair may, 

Half so gaudy or so gay. 

She wore a chaplet on her head-, 

Her cassock was of scarlet red, 

Long and large, as straight as bent ; 

Her middle was both small and gent ; 



* Whey, uccordiiig to some authorities ; according to others, bntteniiilk. 



ROBERT GREENE. 71 

A neck as white as whale's bone, 
Compassed with a lace of stone. 
Fine she was, and fair she was, 
Brighter than the brightest glass ; 
Such a shepherd's wife as she 
Was not more in Thessaly. 



THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE'S SONG. 

Ah, what is love? It is a pretty thing, 
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king ; 

And sweeter too. 
For kings have cares that wait upon a crown, 
And cares can make the sweetest love to frown i 

Ah then, ah then, 
If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
^Yhat lady would not love a shej^herd swain? 

His flocks are folded, he comes home at night, 
As merry as a king in his delight; 

And merrier too, 
For kings bethink them what the state require, 
Where shepherds careless carol by the fire: 

Ah tlien, ah then, 
If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 

He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat 

His cream and curds, as doth the king his meat 

And blither too, 
For kings have often fears when they do sup. 
Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup : 

Ah then, ah then, 
If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 

To bed he goes, as wanton then I ween, 
As is a king in dalliance with a queen ; 
More wanton too, 



72 POEMS OF 

For kings have many griefs affects to move, 
Where shepherds have no greater grief than love 

Ah then, ah theu, 
If country loves such sweet desires do ga,in. 
What lady would not lov3 a shepherd swain? 

Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound, 
As doth the king upon his beds of down ; 

More sounder too, 
For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill ; 
Where weary shepherds lie and snore their fill: 

Ah then, ah then. 
If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 

Thus w4th his wife he spends the year, as blithe 
As doth the king at every tide or sith ; 

And blither too. 
For kings have wars and broils to take in hand. 
When shepherds laugh and love upon the land: 

Ah then, ah tlien, 
If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 

-. -^ 



HEXAMETRA ALEXIS IN LAUDEM ROSAMUND.^. 

Oft have Ilieard my lief Coridon report on a love-day, 

When bonny maids do meet w4th the swains in the 
valley by tempe, 

How^ bright-e^'ed his Phillis w^as, how lovely tliey 
glanced, 

AVhen fro th' arches ebon-black flew looks as a light- 
ning. 

That set a-fire with pjiercing flames even hearts ada- 
mantine: 

Face rose-hued, cherry-red, with a silver taint like a 
lily: 

Venus pride might abate, might abash with a blush to 
behold her; 



ROBERT GREENE. 73 

Phoebus' wires compared to her hairs unworthy the 
praising ; 

Juno's state and Pallas' wit disgraced with the Graces 

Tiiat graced her, whom poor Coridon did choose for a 
love-mate. 

Ah, but had Coridon now seen the star that Alexis 

Likes and loves so dear, that he melts to sighs when 
he sees her. 

Did Coridon but see those ejes, those amorous eyelids, 

From whence fly holy flames of death or life in a mo- 
ment ! 

Ah, did he see that face, those hairs that Venus, Apollo 

Bashed to behold, and, both disgraced, did grieve that 
a creature 

Should exceed in hue, compare both a god and a god- 
dess ! 

Ah, had he seen my sweet paramour, the taint of 
Alexis, 

Then had he said, Phillis, sit dovv-n surpassed in all 
points, 

For there is one more fair than thou, beloved of Alexis! 



HEXAMETRA ROSAMUNDS IN DOLOREM AMISSI 

ALEXIS. 

Tempe, the grove where dark Hecate doth keep her 

abiding, 
Tempe, the grove where poor Rosamond bewails her 

Alexis, 
Let not a tree nor a shrub be green to show thy re^ 

joicing. 
Let not a leaf once deck thy boughs and branches, oh, 

Tempe ! 
Let not a bird record her tunes, nor chant any sweet 

notes, 
But Philomel, let her bewail the loss of her armors. 
And fill all the wood with doleful tunes to bemoan her: 
Parched leaves fill every spring, fill every fountain ; 



74 POEMS OF 

All the meads in mourning weed fit them to lamenting; 
Echo sit and sing despair i' the valleys, i' the mountains ; 
All Thessaly help poor Rosamond mournful to bemoan 

her, 
For she's quite bereft of her love, and left of Alexis ! 
Once was she liked and once w^as she loved of w^anton 

Alexis: 
Now is she loathed and now is she left of trothless 

Alexis. 
Here did he clip and kiss Rosamond, and vow by Diana, 
None so dear to the swain as I, nor none so beloved ; 
Here did he deeply swear and call great Pan for a 

witness, 
That Rosamond was only the rose beloved of Alexis, 
That Thessaly had not such another nymph to delight 

him: 
None, quoth he, but Yenus' fair shall have any kisses; 
Not Phillis, were Phillis alive, should have any favors. 
Nor Galate, Galate so fair for beauteous eyebrows, 
Nor Doris, that lass that drew^ the swains to behold her, 
Not one amongst all these, nor all should gain any 

graces. 
But Rosamond alone, to herself should have her Alexis. 
Now, to revenge the perjured vows of faithless Alexis, 
Pan, great Pan, that heard'st his oaths, and mighty 

Diana, 
You Dryades, and watery Nymphs that sport by the 

fountains. 
Fair Tempe, the gladsome grove of greatest Apollo, 
Shrubs and dales and neighboring hills, that heard 

when he swore him. 
Witness all, and seek to revenge the w^rongs of a 

virgin ! 
Had any swain been lief to me but guileful Alexis, 
Had Rosamond twined myrtle boughs, or rosemary 

branches, 
Sweet hollyhock, or else daffodil, or slips of a bay-tree, 
And given them for a gift to any swain but Alexis, 
Well had Alexis done t' have left his rose for a giglot: 
But Galate ne'er loved more dear her lovely Menalcas, 



ROBERT GREENE. 75 

Than Eosamond did dearly love lier trotliless Alexis ; 

Endymion was ne'er beloved of bis Cytherea, 

Half so dear as true Rosamond beloved her Alexis. 

Now, seely lass, hie down to the lake, haste down to 
the willows, 

And with those forsaken twigs go make thee a chaplet; 

Mournful sit, and sigh by the springs, by the brooks, 
by the rivers, 

Till thou turn for grief, as did Niobe, to a marble ; 

Melt to tears, pour out thy plaints, let Echo reclaim 
them. 

How Rosamond that loved so dear is left of Alexis. 

Now die, die, Rosamond! let men engrave o' thy tomb- 
stone, 

Here lies she that loved so dear the youngster Alexis, 

Once beloved^ forsaken late of faithless Alexis, 

Yet Rosamond did die for love, false-hearted Alexis! 



PHILADOR'S ODE 

THAT HE LEFT WITH THE DESPAIRING LOVER 

When merry autumn in her prime. 

Fruitful mother of swift time, 

Had filled Ceres' lap with store 

Of vines and corn, and mickle more 

Such needful fruits as do grow 

From Terra's bosom here below; 

Tityrus did sigh, and see 

With heart's grief and eyes' gree. 

Eyes and heart both full of woes, 

Where Galate his lover goes. 

Her mantle was vermilion red; 

A gaudy chaplet on her head, 

A chaplet that did shroud the beams 

That Phoebus on her beauty streams, 

For sun itself desired to see 

So fair a nymph as was she, 

For, viewing from the east to west 

Fair Galate did like him best, 



76 POEMS OF 

Her face was like to welkin's sliiue ; 
Crystal brooks such were her eyne, 
And yet within those brooks were fires 
That scorched youth and his desires. 
Gaiate did much impair 
Venus' honor for her fair; 
For stately stepj)ing, Juno's pace, 
By Gaiate did take disgrace ; 
And Pallas' wisdom bare no prize 
Where Gaiate would show her wise. 
This gallant gu'l thus passeth by, 
Where Tityrus did sighing lie, 
Sighing sore, for love strains 
More than sighs from lovers' veins ; 
Tears in ej'e, thought in hefirt, 
Thus his grief he did impart : 
"Fair Gaiate, but glance thine eye; 
Here lies he, that here must die. 
For love is death, if love not gain 
Lover's salve for lover's pain. 
Winters seven and more are past. 
Since on thy face my thoughts I cast : 
When Gaiate did haunt the 23lains, 
And fed her sheep amongst the swains, 
When every shepherd left his flocks 
To gaze on Galate's fair locks. 
When every eye did stand at gaze, 
When heart and thought did both amaze 
When heart from body would asunder. 
On Galate's fair face to wonder; 
Then amongst them all did I 
Catch such a Avound, as I must die 
If Gaiate oft say not thus, 
"I love the shepherd Tityrus!" 
'Tis love, fair nymph, that doth pain 
Tityrus, thy truest swain ; 
True, for none more true can be 
Than still to love, and none but thee. 
Say, Gaiate, oft smile and say, 
'Twere pity love should have a nay; 



ROBERT GREENE. 77 

But SUCH a word of comfort give, 

And Tityrus tb}' love shall live : 

Or with a piercing frown reply, 

I can not live, and then I die, 

For lover's nay is lover's death. 

And heart-break frown do stop the breath." 

Galate at this arose, 

And with a smile away she goes, 

As one that little cared to ease 

Tityr, pained with love's disease. 

At her parting, Tityrus 

Sighed amain, and sayed thus : 

"Oh, that women are so fair, 

To trap men's eyes in their hair, 

With beauteous eyes, love's fires, 

Venus' sparks that heat desires! 

But oh, that women have such hearts, 

Such thoughts, and such deep-piercing darts, 

As in the beauty of their eye 

Harbor nought but flattery! 

Their tears are drawn that drop deceit, 

Their faces calends of all sleight. 

Their smiles are lures, their looks guile, 

And all their love is but a wile. 

Then, Tityr, leave, leave, Tityrus, 

To love such as scorns you thus ; 

And say to love and women both. 

What I liked, now I do loath."' 

With that he hied him to the flocks. 

And counted love but Venus' mocks. 



THE SONG 

OF A COUNTRY S\yAIN^ AT THE EETUEN OF PHILADOR. 

Ths silent shade had shadowed every tree, 
And Phoebus in the west was shrouded low; 
Each hive had home her busy laboring bee, 
Each bird the harbor of the night did know: 

Even then, 

When thus 



78 POEMS OF 

All things did from their weary labor lin,* 
Menalcas sate and thought him of his sin. 

His head on hand, his elbow on his knee ; 

And tears like dew, be-drenched upon his face, 

His face as sad as any swain's might be; 

His thoughts and dumps befitting well the place ; 

Even then. 

When thus 
Menalcas sate in passions all alone, 
He sighed then, and thus he 'gan to moan. 

"I that fed flocks upon Thessalia plains, 

And bade my lambs to feed on daffodil. 

That lived on milk and curds, poor shepherds' gains. 

And merry sate, and piped upon a pleasant hill ; 

Even then, 

AVhen thus 
I sate secure, and feared not Fortune's ire. 
Mine eyes eclipsed, fast blinded by desire. 

Then lofty thoughts began to lift my mind, 
I grudged and thought my fortune was too low; 
A shepherd's life 'twas base and out of kind, 
The tallest cedars have the fairest grow: 

Even then. 

When thus 
Pride did intend the sequel of my ruth. 
Began the faults and follies of my youth. 

I left the fields and took me to the town, 

Fold sheep who list, the hook was cast away; 

Menalcas would not be a country clown. 

Nor shepherd's weeds, but garments far more gay : 

Even then, 

When thus 

* Cease. 



ROBERT GREENE. i^ 

A-spiring thoughts did follow after ruth, 
Began the faults and follies of my youth. 

My suits were silk, my talk was all of state, 
I stretched beyond the compass of mj' sleeve ; 
Tlie bravest courtier was Menalcas' mate, 
Spend what I would, I never thought on grief: 

Even then, 

When thus 
[ lashed out lavish, then began my ruth, 
A.nd then I felt the follies of my youth. 

I cast mine eye on every wanton face, 
A.nd straight desire did hale me on to love; 
Then lover-like I prayed for Venus' grace, 
That she my mistress' deep affects might move: 

Even then. 

When thus 
Love trapped me in the fatal bands of ruth, 
Began the faults and follies of my youth. 

No cost I spared to please my mistress' eye. 
No time ill-spent in presence of her sight ; 
Yet oft she frowned, and then her love must die, 
But when she smiled, oh, then a happy wight ! 

Even then, 

When thus 
Desire did draw me on to deem of ruth, 
Began the faults and follies of my youth. 

The day in poems often did I pass, 

The night in sighs and sorrows for her grace ; 

And she, as fickle as the brittle glass, 

Held sunshine showers within her flattering face: 

Even then. 

When thus 
I spied the woes that women's loves ensu'th, 
I saw and loathe the follies of my youth. 



80 Poems op 

I noted oft that beauty was a blaze, 

I saw that love was but a heap of cares ; 

That such as stood as deer do at the gaze, 

And sought their wealth amongst affection's tares, 

Even such 

I saw 
With hot pursuit did follow after ruth. 
And fostered up the follies of their youth. 

Thus clogged with love, with passions, and with grief, 

I saw the country life had least molest ; 

I felt a wound, and fain would have relief, 

And this resolved I thought w^ould fall out best: 

Even then, 

"WTien thus 
I felt my senses almost sold to ruth, 
I thought to leave the follies of my youth. 

To flocks again; away the wanton town, 

Fond pride avaunt; give me the shepherd's hook, 

A coat of gray, I'll be a country clown ; 

Mine eye shall scorn on beauty for to look : 

No more 

Ado; 
Both pride and love are ever pained with ruth. 
Therefore farewell the follies of my youth. 



FROM FAREWELL TO FOLLT. 



DESCRIPTION OF THE LADY M^SIA. 

Her statiu'e and her shape were passing tall, 
Diana like, when 'loiigst the lawns she goes; 
A stately pace, like Juno when she braved 
The Queen of love, 'fore Paris in the vale; 
A front beset with love and majesty: 
A face like lovely Venus when she blushed 
A seely shepherd should be beauty's judge; 
A lip sweet ruby-red graced with delight ; 
Her eyes two sparkling stars in winter night, 



nOBERT GREENE. 81 

When ebillincf frost dotli clear tlie azured sky; 
Her hairs in tresses twined with threads of silk, 
Hung- waving down like Phoebns in his prime; 
Her breasts as white as those two snow}- swans 
That draw to Paphos Cupid's smiling dame; 
A foot like Thetis when she tripped the sands 
To steal Neptnnus' favor with her steps ; 
In fine, a piece despite of beauty framed. 
To see what Nature's cunning* could afford. 



SONG. 

Sweet are the thoughts that savor of content; 

The quiet mind is richer than a crown ; 
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent; 

The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown: 
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss, 
Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do iniss. 

The homely house that harbors cjuiet rest; 

The cottage that affords no pride nor care; 
The mean that 'grees with country music best; 

The sv\'eet consort of mirth and music's fare; 
Obscured life sets down a type of bliss : 
A mind content botli crown and kinofdom is. 



LINES TRANSLATED FROM GUAZZO. 

He that appalled with lust would sail in haste to Co- 

rinthum. 
There to be taught in Lais' school to seek for a mistress, 
Is to be trained in Venus' troop and changed to the 

purpose; 
Rage embraced, but reason quite thrust out as an exile; 
Pleasure a pain, rest turned to be care, and mirth as a 

madness ; 
Fiery minds inflamed with a look enraged as Alecto ; 
Quaint in array, sighs fetched from far, and tears, many, 

feigned ; 



^2 POEMS OF 

Pensive, sore deep i^lunged in pain, not a place but his 

heart whole; 
D.iys in g-rief and nights consumed to think on a god- 
dess ; 
Broken sleeps, sweet dreams, but short fro the night to 

the morning; 
Venus dashed, his mistress" face as bright as AjdoIIo: 
Helena stained, the golden ball wrong-given by the 

shepherd ; 
Hairs of gold, eyes twinkling stars, her lips to be rubies ; 
Teeth of pearl, her breasts like snow, her cheeks to be 

roses ; 
Sugar candy she is, as I guess, fro the waist to the 

kneestead ; 
Nought is amiss, no fault were found if soul were 

amended ; 
All were bliss if such fond lust led not to repentance. 



FROM DANTE. 



A monster seated in the midst of men, 

Which, daily fed, is never satiate; 

A hollow gulf of vile ingratitude, 

Which for his food vouchsafes not pay of thanks, 

But still doth claim a debt of due expense ; 

From hence doth Venus draw the shape of lust ; 

From hence Mars raiseth blood and stratagems; 

The wrack of wealth, the secret foe to life ; 

The sword that hasteneth on the date of death ; 

The surest friend to physic by disease; 

The pumice that defaceth memory; 

The misty vapor that obscures the light. 

And brightest beams of science' glittering sun. 

And doth eclipse the mind with sluggish thoughts: 

The monster that affords this curbed brood, 

And makes commixture of those dire mishaps, 

Is but a stomach overcharged with meats, 

That takes delight in endless gluttony. 



ROBERT GREENE. 83 

FROM THE GROAT'S WORTH OF WIT. 



LAMILIA'S SONG. 

Fie, fie, on blind fancy, 

It hinders 3'ontli's joy; 

Fair virgins, learn by me, 

To count love a toy. 
When Love learned first the A B C of delight, 
And knew no figures nor conceited phrase. 
He simply gave to due desert her right, 
He led not lovers in dark winding ways ; 
He plainly willed to love, or flatly answered no. 
But now who lists to prove, shall find it nothing so. 

Fie, fie then on fancy, 

It hinders youth's joy; 

Fair virgins, learn by me 

To count love a toy. 
For since he learned to use the poet's pen. 
He learned likewise with smoothing words to feign, 
Witching chaste ears with trothless tongues of men, 
And' wronged faith with falsehood and disdain. 
He gives a promise now, anon he sweareth no ; 
Who listeth for to prove shall find his changing so. 

Fie, fie then on fancy. 

It hinders youth's joy; 

Fair virgins, learn by me 

To count love a toy. 



VERSES AGAINST ENTICING COURTESANS. 

What meant the poets in invective verse 
To sing Medea's shame, and Scylla's pride. 
Calypso's charms by which so many died? 
Only for this their vices they rehearse : 
That curious wits which in the world converse, 
May shun the dangers and enticing shows 
Of such false Sirens, those home-breeding foes, 
That from their eyes their venom do disperse. 
So soon kills not the basilisk with sight ; 
The viper's tooth is not so venomous ; 



84 POEMS OF 

The adder's tongue not half so dangerous, 

As the}" that bear the shadow of delight. 

Who chain blind j^ouths in trammels of their hair, 

Till waste brings woe, and sorrow hastes despair. 



VERSES. 

Deceiving world, that with alluring toys 
Hast made my life the subject of thy scorn, 

And scornest now to lend thy fading joys 

T' outlength my life, whom friends have left forlorn; 

How well are they that die ere they be born, 
And never see thy slights, which few men shun 
Till unawares they helpless are undone ! 

Oft have I sung of love and of his fire ; 

But now I find that poet was advised. 
Which made full feasts increasers of desire, 

And proves weak love was with the poor despised; 
For when the life with food is not sufficed, 

What thoughts of love, what motion of delight, 

What pleasance can proceed from such a wight? 

Witness my want, the murderer of my wit: 

My ravished sense, of wonted fury reft. 
Wants such conceit as should in poems fit 

Set down the sorrow wherein I am left: 
But therefore have high heavens their gifts bereft, 

Because so long they lent them me to use. 

And I so long their bounty did abuse. 

Oh, that a year were granted me to live. 

And for that year my former wits rest :)red ! 
What rules of life, what counsel Virould I give. 

How should my sin with sorrow be deplored! 
But I must die of every man abhorred: 

Time looselj^ spent will not again be won; 

My time is loosely spent, and I undone.* 



* Tlip.se verse.s derive adtlitioii.'il patlios from tlie circumstance of liaviiig 
lieen written in Greciie'.s Inst illness. Tlie preceding piece, and that wliicE 
follows, also have reference to his owii life. 



no BERT GREENE. 85 

A CONCEITED FABLE OF THE OLD COMEDIAN i^SOP. 

An aut and a grasshopper, Avalidng together on a 
green, the one carelessl}' skipping, the other carefully 
prying what winter's provision was scattered in the 
way ; the grasshopper scorning (as want jns will) this 
needless thrift, as he termed it, reproved him thus: 

The greedy miser thirsteth still for gain ; 
His thrift is theft, his weal works others woe : 
That fool is fond which will in caves remain, 
When "mongst fair sweets lie may at pleasure go. 

To this, the ant, perceiving the grasshopper's meaning, 
quickly replied: 

The thrifty husband spares what unthrifts spends, 
His thrift no theft, for dangers to provide ; 
Trust to thyself; small hope in want yield friends: 
A cave is better than the deserts wide. 

In short time these two parted, the one to his pleasure, 
the other to his labor. Anon harvest grew on. and 
reft from the grasshopper his wonted moisture. Then 
weakly skips he to the meadow's brinks, where till 
fell winter he abode. But storms continually pouring, 
he went for succor to the ant, his old acquaintance, 
to whom he had scarce discovered his estate, but the 
little worm made this reply : 

Pack hence, quoth he, thou idle, lazy worm ,; 
My house doth harbor no unthrifty mates: 
Thou scorn'd'st to toiLand now thou feel'st the storm. 
And starv'st for food, while I am fed with cates: 
Use no entreats, I will relentless rest, 
For toiling labor hates an idle guest. 

The grasshopper, foodless, helpless, and strengthless, 
got into the next brook, and in the yielding sand 
digged himself a pit; by which likewise he engraved 
this epitaph ; 



86 POEMS OF 

Wlien spring's green prime arrayed me with delight, 
And every power with youthful vigor filled, 
Gave strength to work whatever fancy willed, 
I never feared the force of winter's spite. 

When first I saw the sun the day begin, 
And dry the morning's tears from herbs and grass, 
I little thought his cheerful light would pass, 
Till ugly night with darkness entered in ; 

And then day lost I mourned, spring past I wailed ; 

But neither tears for this or that availed. 

Then too, too late, I praised the emmet's pain, 
That sought in spring a harbor 'gainst the heat. 
And in the harvest gathered winter's meat, 
Perceiving famine, frosts, and stormy rain. 

My wretched end may warn green springing youth 
To use delights as toys that will deceive. 
And scorn the world, before the world them leave, 
For all world's trust is ruin without ruth. 
Then blest are they that, like the toiling ant, 
Provide in time 'gainst woeful winter's want. 

With this the grasshopper, yielding to the weather's 
extremity, died comfortless without remedy. 



FROM CICER0NI8 AMOR. 



VERSES. 



When gods had framed the sweet of women's face. 
And locked men's looks within their golden hair, 

That Phoebus blushed to see their matchless grace, 
And heavenly gods on earth did make repair ; 

To quip fair Venus' overweening pride, 

Love's happy thoughts to jealousy were tied. 



ROBERT GREENE. 87 

Then grew a wrinkle on fair Venus' brow ; 

The amber sweet of love is turned to gall ; 
Gloomy was heaven ; bright Phoebus did avow 

He could be coy, and would not love at all, 
Swearing, no greater mischief could be wrought 
Than love united to a jealous thought. 



VERSUS. 



Vita quae tandem magis est jucunda, 
Vel viris doctis magis expetenda, 
Mente quam pura sociam jugalem 
Semper amare ? 

Vita qu9e tandem magis est dolenda, 
Vel magis cunctis fugienda, quam quae, 
Falso suspecta probitate amicse, 
Tollit amorem? 

Nulla eam tollit medicina pestem, 
Murmura, emplastrum, vel imago sagse, 
Astra nee curant, magicse nee artes, 
Zelotypiam. 



SONG. 

Mars in a fury 'gainst love's brightest queen, 
Put on his helm, and took him to his lance; 

On Erycinus' mount was Mayors seen, 

And there his ensigns did the god advance, 

And by heaven's greatest gates he stoutly swore, 

Venus should die, for she had wronged him sore. 

Cupid heard this, and he began to cry, 

And wished his mother's absence for a while; 

"Peace, fool," quoth Venus, '-is it I must die? 

Must it be Mars?" AVith that she coined a smile,- 

She trimmed her tresses, and did curl her hair. 

And made her face with beauty passing fair. 



88 P0E3IS OF 

A fan of silver featliers in her hand, 

And in a coach of ebony she went; 
She passed the place where furious Mars did stand, 

And out her looks a lovely smile she sent; 
Then from her brows leaped out so sharp a frown, 
That Mars for fear threw ail his armor down. 



He vowed repentance for his rash misdeed, 
Blaming the choler that had caused his woe: 

Venus grew gracious, and with him agreed, 
But charged him not to threaten beauty so. 

For women's looks are such enchanting charms, 

As can subdue the greatest god in arms. 



ROUNDELAY. 



Fond, feigning poets make of love a god. 
And leave the laurel for the myrtle boughs, 

When Cupid is a child not past the rod, 
And fair Diana Daphne most allows: 

I'll wear the bays, and call the wag a boy. 

And think of love but as a foolish to}''. 

Some give him bov/ and quiver at his back. 
Some make him blind to aim without advice. 

When, naked wretch, such feathered bolts he lack, 
And sight he hath, but can not wrong the wise ; 

For use but labor's weapon for defense. 

And Cupid, like a coward, flieth thence. 

He's god in court, but cottage calls him child, 
And Vesta's virgins with their holy fires 

Do cleanse the thoughts that fancy hath defiled, 
And burn the palace of his fond desires; 

With chaste disdain they scorn the foolish god. 

And prove him but a boy not past the rod. 



ROBERT GREENE. 89 

LENTULUS'S DESCRIPTION OF TERENTIA IN LATIN. 

QuaUs in aurora spleiidescit lumiiie Titan, 

Talis in eximio corpore forma fait: 
Luiniiia sen spectes radiantia, sive capillos, 

LiiK. Aria liie, tua, et lux tua, Phoebe, jacet. 
Yeuustata fuit verbis, spirabat odorem; 

Musica vox, nardus spiritus almus erat ; 
Rubea labra, geuae rubrse, faciesque decora, 

In qua concertant lilius atque rosa; 
Luxuriant geminse formoso in pectore marnmafx 

Circundant niviae Candida colla comse ; 
Deniqu3 talis erat divina Terentia, quales 

Quondam certantes, Juno, Minerva, Venus. 

THUS IX ENGLISH. 

Briglitsome Apollo in his richest pomp, 

Was not like to the trammels of her hair : 

Her eyes, like Ariadne's sparkling stars, 

Shone from the ebon arches of her brows; 

Her face was like the blushing of the east. 

When Titan charged the morning sun to rise ; 

Her cheeks, rich strewed with roses and with white, 

Did stain the glory of Anchises' love : 

Her silver teats did ebb and flow delight ; 

Her neck columns of polished ivory : 

Her breath w^as perfumes made of violets; 

And all this heaven was but Terentia. 



THE SHEPHERD'S ODE. 

Walking in a Vcdley green. 
Spread with Flora, summer queen, 
Where she heaping all her graces, 
Niggard seemed in other places; 
Spring it w^as, and here did spring 
All that Nature forth can bring. 
Groves of pleasant trees there grow. 
Which fruit and shadow^ could bestow^; 



90 POEMS OF 

Thick-leaved boughs small birds cover, 
Till sweet notes themselves discover; 
Tunes for number seemed confounded. 
Whilst their mixtures music sounded, 
'Greeing well, yet not agreed 
That one the other should exceed. 
A sweet stream here silent glides, 
Whose clear water no fish hides ; 
Slow it runs, which well bewra3^ed 
The pleasant shore the current stayed. 
In this stream a rock was planted, 
Where no art nor Nature wanted. 
Each thing so did other grace, 
As all places may give place ; 
Only this the place of pleasure. 
Where is heaped Nature's treasure. 
Here mine eyes with wonder stayed, 
Eyes amazed, and mind afraid. 
Ravished with what w^as beheld, 
From departing were withheld. 
Musing then with sound advice 
On this earthly paradise ; 
Sitting bj the river side. 
Lovely Phillis was descried. 
Gold her hair, bright her eyne, 
Like to Phoebus in his shine ; 
White her brow, her face was fair; 
Amber breath perfumed the air; 
Rose and lily both did seek 
To show their glories on her cheek; 
Love did nestle in her looks, 
Baiting there his sharpest hooks. 
Such a Phillis ne'er was seen, 
More beautiful than love's queen : 
Doubt it was, whose greater grace 
Phillis' beauty, or the place. 
Her coat was of scarlet red 
All in pleats ; a mantle spread, 
Fringed with gold ; a wreath of boughs, 
To check the sun from her brows ; 



ROBERT GREENE. ^\ 

In her hand a shepherd's hook, 
In her face Diana's look. 
Her sheep grazed on the plains ; 
She had stolen from the swains; 
Under a cool silent shade, 
By the streams she garlands made? 
Thus sat Phillis all alone. 
Missed she was by Corydon, 
Chief est swain of all the rest ; 
Lovely Phillis liked him best. 
His face was like Phcebus' love ; 
His neck white as Venus' dove ; 
A ruddy cheek, filled with smiles, 
Such Love hath w^hen he beguiles ; 
His locks brown, his eyes were grajp 
Like Titan in a summer day : 
A russet jacket, sleeves red; 
A blue bonnet on his head ; 
A cloak of gray fenced the rain ; 
Thus 'tired was this lovely swain; 
A shepherd's hook, his dog, tied 
Bag and bottle by his side : 
Such was Paris, shej^herds say. 
When with OEuone he did play. 
From his flock strayed Corydon, 
Spjdng Phillis all alone ; 
By the stream he Phillis sj^ied, 
Braver than was Flora's pride. 
Down the valley 'gan he track, 
Stole behind his true love's back; 
The sun shone, and shadow made, 
Phillis rose and was afraid; 
When she saw her lover there, 
Smile she did, and left her fear. 
Cupid, that disdain doth loathe. 
With desire strake them both. 
The swain did woo ; she was nice. 
Following fashion, nayed him twice s 
Much ado, he kissed her then ; 
Maidens blush when they kiss men; 



92 POEMS OF 

So did Phillis at that stowre ; 

Her face was like the rose flower. 

Last they 'greed, for love wonkl so, 

'Faith and troth they would no mo i 

For shepherds ever held it sin, 

To false the love they lived in. 

The swain gave a girdle red; 

She set garlands on his head: 

Gifts were given ; they kiss again ; 

Both did smile, for both were fain. 

Thus was love 'mongst shepherds sold, 

When fancy knew not what was gold : 

They wooed and vowed, and that they keep, 

And go contented to their sheep. 



FROM PHILOMELA. 



PHILOMELA'S ODE 

THAT SHE SUNG IN HUR ARBOR. 

Sitting by a river's side, 
"Where a silent stream did glide, 
Muse I did of many things. 
That the mind in quiet brings. 
I 'gan think how some men deem 
Gold their god ; and some esteem 
Honor is the chief content. 
That to man in life is lent. 
And some others do contend. 
Quiet none like to a friend. 
Others hold there is no wealth 
Compared to a perfect liealth. 
Some man's mind in quiet stands, 
When he is lord of many lands: 
But I did sigh, and said all this 
Was but a shade of perfect bliss ; 
And in my thoughts I did approve. 
Nought so sweet as is true love. 
Love 'twixt lovers j^asseth these, 
When mouth kissoth and heart 'grees, 



ROBERT GREENE. 03 

With folded arms and lips meeting, 
Each soul another sweetly greeting ; 
For by the breath the soul fleeteth. 
And soul with soul in kissing meeteth 
If love be so sweet a thing. 
That such bappy bliss dotn bring, 
Happy is love's sugared thrill. 
But unhappy maidens all, 
'Wlio esteem your virgin blisses 
Sweeter than a wife's sweet kisses. 
No such quiet to the mind, 
As true love w^ith kisses kind: 
But if a kiss prove unchaste. 
Then is true love quite disgraced. 
Though love be sweet, learn this o\ me. 
No sv/eet love but honesty. 



PHILOMELA'S SECOND ODE. 

It was frosty winter season. 
And fair Flora's wealth was geason. 
Meads that erst with green were spread, 
With choice flowers diap'red, 
Had tawny veils ; cold had scanted 
What the springs and Nature planted. 
Leafless boughs there might you see, 
All except fair Daphne's tree : 
On their twigs no birds perched ; 
Warmer coverts now they searched; 
And by Nature's secret reason, 
Framed their voices to the season, 
With their feeble tunes bew^raying. 
How they grieved the spring's decaying 
Frosty winter thus ha-l gloomed 
Each fair thing that summer bloomed; 
Fields were bare, and trees unclad, 
Flow^ers withered, birds were sad 
When I saw^ a shepherd fold 
Sheep in cote, to shun the cold. 



94 POEMS OF 

Himself sitting on the grass, 

That with frost ^Yithe^ed was, 

Sighing deej^ly, thus 'gan say: 

"Love is folly when astray: 

Like to love no passion such, 

For 'tis madness, if too much ; 

If too little, then despair; 

If too high, he beats the air 

With bootless cries ; if too low, 

An eagle matcheth with a crow: 

Thence grow jars. Thus I find. 

Love is folly, if unkind ; 

Yet do men most desire 

To be heated with this fire, 

Whose flame is so pleasing hot, 

That they burn, yet feel it not. 

Yet hath love another kind, 

Worse than these unto the mind; 

That is, when a w^anton's eye 

Leads desire clean awry, 

And with the bee doth rejoice 

Every minute to change choice, 

Counting he were then in bliss. 

If that each fair fall w^ere his. 

Highly thus is love disgraced, 

When the lover is unchaste. 

And would taste of fruit forbidden, 

'Cause the scape is easily hidden. 

Though such love be sweet in brew^ing'. 

Bitter is the end ensuing ; 

For the humor of love he shameth, 

And himself with lust defameth ; 

For a minute's pleasure gaining, 

Fame and honor ever staining. 

Gazing thus so far awry, 

Last the chip falls in his eye; 

Then it burns that erst but heat him, 

And his own rod 'gins to beat him; 

His choicest sw^eets turn to gall ; 

He finds lu^t his sin's thrall ; 



ROBERT GREENE. 95 

That wanton women in their eyes 
Men's deeeivings do comprise; 
That homage done to fair faces 
Doth dishonor other graces. 
If lawless love be snch a sin, 
Cursed is he that lives therein. 
For the gain of Venus' game 
Is the downfall unto shame." 
Here he paused, and did stay; 
Sighed, and rose and went away. 



SONNET. 



On women Nature did bestow two eyes, [shining, 
Like heaven's bright lamps, in matchless beauty 
Whose beams do soonest captivate the wise, 
And wary heads, made rare by art's refining. 
But why did Nature, in her choice combining, 
Plant two fair eves within a beauteous face. 
That they might favor two with equal grace? 
Venus did soothe up Vulcan w^ith one eyo, 
"With the other granted jfars his wished glee: 
If she did so whom Hymen did defy, 
Think love no sin, but grant an eye to me ; 
In vain else Nature gave twc stars to thee : 
If then two eyes may well two friends maintain, 
VUow^ of two, and prove not Nature vain. 



ANSWER. 

Nature foreseeing how men w^ould devise 
More wiles than Proteus, women to entice 
Granted them two, and those bright-shining eyes, 
To pierce into man's faults if they were wise; 
For they with show of virtue mask their vice : 
Therefore to w^omen's eyes belong these gifts, 
The one must love, the other see men's shifts. 



06 POEMS OF 

Both these await upon one simple heart, 

And what they choose, it hides up vrithout change. 

The emerald will not with his portrait part, 

Nor will a woman's thoughts delight to range ; 

They hold it bad to have so base exchange: [bim, 

One'^ heart, one friend, though that two eyes do choose 

No more but one, and heart will never loose him. 



AN ODE. 



What is love once disgraced, 

But a wanton thought ill placed? 

Which doth blemish whom it paineth, 

And dishonors whom it deigneth; 

Seen in higher powers most. 

Though some fools do fondly boast, 

That whoso is high of kin 

Sanctities his lover's sin. 

Jove could not hide lo's 'scape. 

Nor conceal Calisto's rape: 

Both did fault, and both were framed 

Light of loves, whom lust had shamed 

Let not women trust to men ; 

They can flatter now and then. 

And tell them many wanton tales, 

Which do breed their after bales. 

Sin in kings is sin, we see, 

Arbd greater sin, 'cause great of 'gree; 

Majlis 2)eccatum, this I read, 

If he be high that doth the deed. 

Mars, for all his deity. 

Could not Venus dignify ; 

But Vulcan trapped her, and her blame 

Was punished with an open shame: 

All the gods langhed tliem to scorn, 

'For dubbing Vulcan with the horn. 

Whereon may a woman boast, 

If her chastity be lost? 

Shame av/aiteth on her face, 

Blushing cheeks and foul disgrace ; 



ROBERT GREENE. 97 

Beport will blab, — This is she 
That with her lust wins infamy. 
If lusting love be so disgraced, 
Die before you live unchaste ; 
For better did with honest fame, 
Thau lead a wanton life with shame. 



FROM MAMILLTA. {Second Part.) 



VERSES AGAINST THE GENTLEWOMEN OF SICILIA. 

Since lady mild, too base in array, hath lived as an 

exile. 
None of account but stout : if plain, stale slat, not a 

courtress. 
Dames now a days, fie none, if not new guised in all 

points. 
Fancies fine, sauced with conceits, quick wits very wily, 
Words of a saint, but deeds guess how, feigned faith 

to deceive men, 
Courtsies coy, no vail, but a vaunt, tricked up like a 

Tuscan, 
Paced it print, brave lofty looks, not used with the 

vestals. 
In hearts too glorious, not a g-lance but fit for an 

empress, 
As minds most valorous, so strange in array, marry, 

stately. 
Up fro the waist like a man, new guise to be cased in 

a doublet, 
Down to the foot perhaps like a maid, but hosed to the 

kneestead. 
Some close breeched to the crotch for cold, tush, peace 

'tis a shame, sir. 
Hairs by birth as black as jet; what? art can amend 

them; 



98 POEMS OF 

A perriwig frounced* fast to the front, or curled with 

a bodkin, 
Hats fro France, thick purledj for pride and plumed 

like a peacock, 
Ruffs of a size, stiff-starched to the neck, of lawn, 

niiuT}^, lawless. 
Gowns of silk; why those be too bad, side wide with a 

wdtness, 
Small and gent i' the waist, but backs as broad as a 

burgess, 
Needless noughts, as crisps and scarfs, worn a la 

morisco, 
Famed with sw^eets, as sweet as chaste, no want but 

abundance. 



FROM THE ORE II AR ION, 



ORPHEUS' SONG. 

He that did sing the motions of the stars, 
Pale-colored Phoebe's borrowing of her light, 

Aspects of planets oft opposed in jars. 

Of Hesper, henchman to the day and night ; 

Sings now of love, as taught by proof to sing. 

Women are false, and love a bitter thing. 

I loved Eurydice. the brightest lass, 

More fond to like so fair a nymph as she ; 

In Thessaly so bright none ever was, 

But fair and corstant hardly may agree: 

False-hearted wife to him that loved thee w^ell, 

To leave thy love, and choose the prince of hell! 

Theseus did help, and I in haste did hie 

To Pluto, for the lass I loved so; 
The god made grant, and who so glad as I? 

I tuned my harp, and she and I 'gan go ; 
Glad that my love w^as left to me alone, 
I looked back, Eurydice was gone: 



* riickured or <ii(ibereil; also, flounced, wrinkled, 
t Fiinjred, or oiuainented with a ricb border. 



nOBERT GREECE. 90 

She slipped aside, back to her latest love, 

Unkind, she wronged her first and truest feere! 

Thus women's k)ves delight, as trial proves 
]3y false Eurydice I loved so dear, 

To change and fleet, and every waj^ to shrink, 

Tj tike in love, and lose it with a wink. 



THE SONG OF ARION. 

Seated upon the crooked dolphin's back, 
Scudding amidst the purple-colored waves, 

Gazing aloof for land ; Nej^tune in black. 
Attended with the Tritons as liis slaves, 

Threw forth such storms as made the air thick, 

For grief his lady Thetis was so sick. 

Such plaints he throbbed, as made the dolphin stay 
Women, quoth he, are harbors of man's health. 

Pleasures for night, and comforts for the day ; 
What are fair women but rich Nature's wealth"? 

Thetis is such, and more if more may be; 

Thetis is sick, then what may comfort me? 

Women are sweets that salve men's sourest ills; 

Women are saints, their virtues are so rare ; 
Obedient souls that seek to please men's wills ; 

Such love with faith, such jeAvels women are: 
Thetis is such, and more if more may be ; 
Thetis is sick, then what may comfort me? 

With that he dived into the coral waves, 
To see his love, with all his watery slaves : 
The dolphin swam ; yet this I learned then, 
Fair women are rich jewels unto men. 



100 POEMS OF 

SONNET. 

Cupid abroad was lated in the night, . 

His M'ings were wet with ranging in the rain; 
Harbor he songht, to me he took his flight, 

To dry his plumes: I heard the boy complain; 
I oped the door, and granted his desire, 
I rose myself, and made the wag a fire. 

Looking more narrow by the fire's flame, 
I spied his quiver hanging by his back : 
Doubting the boy might my misfortune frame, 
I would have gone for fear of further wrack ; 
But what I drad, did me poor wretch betide, 
For forth he drew an arrow from his side. 

He pierced the quick, and I began to start, 

A pleasing wound, but that it was too high ; 
His shaft procured a sharp, yet sugared smart ; 
Away he flew, for why his wings were dry. 
But left the arrow sticking in my breast. 
That sore I grieved I welcomed such a guesi 



FBOM PENELOPE'S WEB. 



SONNET FROM ARIOSTO. 

The sweet content that quiets angry thought, 
The pleasing sound of household harmony, 

The physic that allays what fury wrought, 
The huswife's means to make true melody, 

Is not with simple harp, or worldly pelf, 

But smoothly by submitting of herself. 

Juno, the queen and mistress of the sk3% 

"When angry Jove did threat her with a frown, 

Caused Ganymede for nectar fast to hie, 

With pleasing face to wash such choler down; 

For angry husbands find the soonest ease, 

When sweet submission choler doth appease. 



ROBERT GREENE. > .: ; ', 101 

The laurel that impales the heaa with praise, 

The gem that decks the breast o^''i*rory, •■ 

The pearl that's orient in her silver rays, 
The crown that honors dames with dignity; 

No sapphire, gold, green bays, nor margarite, 

But due obedience worketh this delisfht. 



BARryiENlSSA'S SONG. 

The stately state that wise men count their good, 
The chiefest bliss that lulls asleej) desire, 

Is not descent from kings and princely blood, 
No stately crown ambition doth require; 

For birth by fortune is abased down. 

And perils are comprised within a crcsvu. 

The scepter and the glittering pomp of mace, 
The head impaled with honor and renown, 

The kingly throne, the seat and regal place. 
Are toys that fade when angry fortune frown: 

Content is far from such delights as those, 

Whom woe and danger do envy as foes. 

The cottage seated in the hollow dale, 
That fortune never fears because so io«^, 

The quiet mind that want doth set to sale. 
Sleeps safe w^hen princes' seats do overthrow : 

Want smiles secure, when princely thoughts do feel 

That fear and danger tread upon their heel. 

Bless fortune thou whose frown hath wrought thy good, 
Bid farewell to the crown that ends thy care ; 

The happy fates thy sorrows have withstood 
By 'signing want and poverty thy share : 

For now content, fond fortune to despite. 

With i^atieuce 'lows thee quiet and delight. 



102 POEMS OF 

VERSES. 

Aspiring tlioiiglits led Phaeton amiss ; 

Proud Icarus did fall, he soared so high; 
Seek not to cKmb with fond Semiramis, 

Lest son revenge the father's injury: 
Take heed, ambition is a sugared ill, 
That fortune lays, presumptuous minds to spill. 

The bitter grief that frets the quiet mind. 

The sting that pricks the froward man to woe. 

Is envy, which in honor seld we find, 
And yet to honor sworn a secret foe: 

Learn this of me, envy not others' state ; 

The fruits of envy are envy and hate. 

The misty cloud that so eclipseth fame. 
That gets reward a chaos of despite, 

Is black revenge, which ever winneth shame, 
A fury vile that's hatched in the night: 

Beware, seek not revenge against thy foe, 

Lest once revenge thy fortune overgo. 

These blazing comets do foreshow mishaj); 

Let not the flaming lights offend thine eye: 
Look ere thou leap, prevent an afterclap ; 

These three forewarned well may'st thou fly-. 
If now by choice thou aim'st at happy health. 
Eschew self-love, choose for the commonwealtho 



FROM AREAS rO. 



SONG. 



Whereat erewhile I wept, I laugh ; 

That which I feared, I now despise ; 
My victor once, my vassal is; 

My foe constrained, my weal sui)plies: 
Thus do I triumph o'er my foe ; 
I w^eep at weal, I laugh at woe. 



ROBERT GREENE. 103 

My care is cured, yet bath no end; 
Not that I want, but that I have ; 
My charge was change, yet still I stay ; 
I would have less, and yet I crave: 
All nie, poor wretch, that thus do live, 
Constrained to take, yet forced to give! 

She whose delights are signs of death. 
Who when she smiles, begins to lour. 
Constant in this that still she change. 
Her sweetest gifts time proves but sour: 
I live in care, crossed with her guile ; 
Through her I weep, at her I smile. 



SONG. 

In time we see the silver drops 
The craggy stones make soft; 

The slowest snail in time we see 
Doth creep and climb aloft. 

With feeble pufts the tallest pine 

In tract of time doth fall; 
The hardest heart in time doth yield 

To Venus' luring call. 

Where chilling frost alate did nip, 

There Hasheth now a fire ; 
Wiiere deep disdain bred noisome hate. 

There kindleth now desire. 

Time causeth hope to have his hap: 
What care in time not eased? 

In time I loathed that now I love. 
In both content and pleased. 




104 POEMS OF 

FROM ALCIDA. 



VERSES WRITTEN UNDER A PICTURE OF VENUS, 

HOLDING THE BALL THAT BROUGHT TEOY TO RUIN. 

When Nature forged the fair unhappy mold, 
Wherein proud beauty took her matchless shape, 
She over-slipped her cunning and her skill. 
And aimed too fair, but drew beyond the mark; 
For thinking to have made a heavenly bliss, 
For wanton gods to dally with in heaven, 
And to have framed a precious gem for men. 
To solace all their dumpish thoughts with glee, 
She wrought a plague, a poison, and a hell : 
For gods, for men, thus no way wrought she well. 
Venus was fair, fair was the queen of love. 
Fairer than Pallas, or the wife of Jove : 
Yet did the giglot's beauty grieve the smith, 
For that she braved the cripple with a horn. 
Mars said her beauty was the star of heaven, 
Yet did her beauty stain him with disgrace. 
Paris, for fair, gave her the golden ball, 
And bought his and his father's ruin so. 
Thus Nature making what should far excel, 
Lent gods and men a poison and a hell. 



VERSES 

WRITTEN UNDER A PICTURE OF A PEACOCK. 

The bird of Juno glories in his plumes ; 
Pride makes the fowl to prune his feathers so. 
His spotted train, fetched from old Argus' head, 
With golden rays like to the brightest sun, 
Inserteth self-love in a silly bird. 
Till, midst his hot and glorious fumes. 
He spies his feet, and then lets fall his plumes. 
Beauty breeds pride, pride hatcheth forth disdain, 
Disdain gets hate, and hate calls for revenge, 
Revenge with bitter prayers urgeth still ; 
Thus self-love, nursing up the pomp of pride, 
Makes beauty wrack against an ebbing tide, 



nOBElir GREENE. 105 

VERSES 

WRITTEN UNDER A CARVING OF MERCURY, THROWING 
FEATHERS UNTO THE WIND. 

The richest gift the wealthy heaven affords, 
Tiie pearl of price sent from immortal Jove, 
The shape wlierein we most rt-semble gods, 
The fire Prometheus stole from lofty skies; 
This (^ift, this pearJ, this shape, this fire is it. 
Which mikes us men bold by the name of wit. 
B}' wit we search divine aspect above. 
By wit v/e learn what secret science yields, 
By wit we s]:)eak, by wit the mind is ruled, 
By wit we govern all our actions: 
Wit is the load-star of each human thought. 
Wit is the tool by which all things are wrought. 
The briglitest jacinth hot becometh dark, 
Of little 'steem is crystal being cracked, 
Fine heads tliat can conceit no good but ill. 
Forge oft that breedeth ruin to themselves: 
Bipe wits abused that build on bad desire. 
Do burn themselves, like flies within the fire. 



VERSES 

WRITTEN UNDER A CARVING OF CUPID, BLOWING BLADDERS 

IN THE AIR. 

Love is a lock that linketh noble minds. 
Faith is the key that shuts the spring of love, 
Lisfhtness a wrest that wringeth all awrv, 
Lightness a plague that fancy can not brook; 
Lightness in love so bad and base a thing. 
As foul disgrace to greatest states do bring. 



106 POEMS OF 

VERSES WRITTEN ON TWO TABLES AT A TOMB. 

ON THE FIRST TABLE. 

The Graces in their gloiy never gave 

A rich or greater good to woman kind, 

That more impales their honors ^Yith the palm 

Of high renown, than matchless constancy. 

Beauty is vain, accounted but a flower, 

Whose painted hue fades with the summer sunj 

Wit oft hath wrack by self-conceit of pride; 

Riches are trash that fortune bor.steth on. 

Constant in love who tries a woman's mind, 

Wealth, beauty, wit, and ail in her doth find. 



ON THE SECOND TABLE. 

The fairest gem, oft blemished with a crack, 

Loseth his beauty and his virtue too ; 

The fairest flower, nipt with the winter's frcst, 

In show seems worser than the basest weed;. 

Virtues are oft far overstained with faults. 

Were she as fair as Phoebe in her sphere, 

Or brighter than the paramour of Mars, 

Wiser than Pallas, daughter unto Jove, 

Of greater majesty than Juno was. 

More chaste than Vesta, goddess of the maids, 

Of greater faith than fair Lucretia ; 

Be she a blab, and tattles what she hears. 

Want to be secret gives far greater stains 

Than virtue's glory which in her remains. 



MADRIGAL. 



Best thee, desire, gaze not at such a star; 

Sweet fanc3% sleep ; love, take a nap a while ; 
My busy thoughts that reach and roam so far. 

With pleasant dreams the length of time beguile*, 
Fair Venus, cool my over-heated breast, 
And let my fancy take her wonted rest. 



ROBERT GREENE. 107 

Cupid abroad was lated in the night, 

His ^Ying•s were wet with ranq-ino- in the rain; 

Harbor he sought, to me he took his flight. 
To dry his phimes : I heard the boy complain ; 

My door I oped, to grant him his desire, 

And rose myself to make the wag a tire. 

Looking more narrow by the fire's flame, 
I spied his quiver hauging at his back: 

I feared the child might my misfortune frame, 
I would have gone for fear of further wrack ; 

And wliat I drad, j^oor man, did me betide. 

For forth he drew an arrow from his side. 

He pierced the quick, that I began to start ; 

The wound was sweet, but that it was too high, 
And yet the pleasure had a pleasing smart : 

This done, he flies away, his wings were dry. 
But left his arrow still within my breast. 
That now I grieve I welcomed such a guest. 



FRAG3TENTS FROM EX GLAND'S PARNASSUS. 



He that will stop the brook, must then begin 
When summer's heat hath dried up the spring, 
And when his pittering streams are low and thin ; 
For let the winter aid unto them bring. 
He grows to be of watery floods the king; 
And though you dam him up with lofty ranks, 
Yet will he quickly overflow his banks. 

'^ 

It was the month in which the righteous maid, 

That for disdain of sinful world's upbraid, 

Fled back to heaven, where she was first conceived. 

Into her silver bower the sun received: 

And the hot Sirian dosf, on him awaiting, 

Alter the chafed Lion's cruel baiting, 

Corrupted had the air with noisome breath, 

And j)oured on earth, plague, pestilence, and death. 



POEMS OF 

A MAIDErS DREAM. 

Methouglit in slumber as I lay and dreamt, 
I saw a silent spring railed in with jeat, 

From sunny shade or murmur quite exempt, 

The glide whereof 'gainst weeping flints did beat', 
And round about were leafless beeches set; 

So dark it seemed night's mantle for to borrow, 

And well to be the gloomy den of sorrow. 

About this spring, in mourning robes of black, 
Were sundry nymphs or goddesses, methouglit, 

That seemly sat in ranks, just back to back. 
On mossy benches Nature there had wrought: 
And 'cause the wind and spring no murmur brought; 

They filled the air with such laments and groans. 

That Echo sighed out their heart-breaking moans. 

Elbow on knee, and head upon their hand, 
As mourners sit, so sat these ladies all. 

Garlands of ebon boughs, whei-eon did stand 
A golden crown, their mantles were of pall. 
And from their watery eyes warm tears did fall ; 

"With wringing hands they sat and sighed, like those 

That had more grief than well they could disclose. 

I looked about, and by the fount I spied 
A knight lie dead, yet all in armor clad, 

Booted and spurred, a falchion by his side; 
A crown of olives on his helm he had. 
As if in peace and war he were adrad : 

A golden hind was placed at his feet. 

Whose veiled ears bewrayed her inward greet. 

She seemed wounded by her panting breath, 
Her beating breast with sighs did fall and rise : 

Wounds there were none ; it was her master's death 
That drew electrum from her weeping eyes. 
Like scalding smoke her braying throbs outflies; 

As deer do mourn when arrow hath them galled. 

So was this hind with heartsick pains enthralled. 



ROBERT GREENE. 109 

Just at his head there sat a sumptuous queen: 
I guessed her so, for why, she wore a crown ; 

Yet were her garments parted white and green, 
'Tired Hke unto the picture of renown. 
Upon her lap she laid his head adown ; 

Unlike to all she smiled on his face, 

Which made me long to know this dead man's case. 

As thus I looked, 'gan Justice to arise ; 

I knew the goddess by her equal beam ; 
And dewing on his face balm from her eyes, 

She wet his visage with a yearnful stream. 

Sad, mournful looks, did from her arches gleam, 
And like to one whom sorrow deep attaints. 
With heaved hands she poureth forth these plaints. 

THE COMPLAINT OF JUSTICE. 

"Untoward Twins that temper human fate, 
AVho from your distaff draw the life of man, 

Pwcm, impartial to the highest state. 

Too soon you cut what Clotho erst began : 
Your fatal dooms this present age may ban; 

For you have robbed the world of such a knight 

As best could skill to balance justice right. 

"His eyes were seats for mercy and for law, 
Favor in one, and Justice in the other ; 

The poor he smoothed, the proud he kept in awe ; 
And just to strangers as unto his brother. 
Bribes could not make him any wrong to smother, 

For to a lord, or to the lowest groom, 

Still conscience and the law set down the doom. 

"Delaying law, that picks the client's purse, 
Ne could this knight abide to hear debated 

From day to day (that claims the poor man's curse) 
Nor might the pleas be over-long dilated : 
Much shifts of law there was by him abated. 

With conscience carefully he heard the cause, 

Then gave his doom with short despatch of laws. 



110 POEMS OF 

"The poor man's cry he thought a holy knell; 
No sooner 'gan their suits to pierce his ears 

But fair-eyed pity in his heart did dwell, 
And like a father that affection bears, 
So tendered he the poor with inward tears, 

And did redress their wrongs when they did call ; 

But poor or rich, he still was just to all. 

"Oh! woe is me," saith Justice, "he is dead; 

The knight is dead that was so just a man, 
And in Astrsea's lap low lies his head. 

Who whilom wonders in the world did scan. 

Justice hath lost her chiefest limb, what than?" 
At this her sighs and sorrows were so sore, 
And so she Avept that she could speak no more. 

THE COMPLAINT OF PRUDENCE. 

A wreath of serpents 'bout her lily wrist 
Did seeml}' Prudence wear: she then arose. 

A silver dove sat mourning on her fist. 
Tears on her cheeks like dew upon a rose. 
And thus began the goddess' greeful glose: 

"Let England mourn! For why? His days are done 

Whom Prudence nursed like her dearest son. 

" Hatton ! " At that I started in my dream, 
But not awoke. "Hatton is dead! " quoth she. 

" Oh, could T pour out tears like to a stream, 
A sea of them would not sufficient be : 
For why, our age had few more wise than he. 

Likes oracles, as were Apollo's saws, 

So were his words accordant to the laws. 

"Wisdom sat watching in his wary eyes, 

His insight subtle if unto a foe 
He could with counsels commonwealths comprise: 

No foreign wit could Hatton's overgo ; 

Yet to a friend wise, simple, and no mo. 
His civil policy unto the state 
Scarce left behind him now a second niate. 



nOBERT GREENE. \\\ 

"For country's weal bis counsel did exceed, 

And eagle-eyed lie ^Yas to spy a fault : 
For wars or peace right wisely could lie reed: 

'Twas hard for trechors* 'fore his looks to halt ; 

The smooth-faced traitor could not him assault. 
As by his country's love his grees did rise, 
Sj to his country was he simple- wise. 

"This grave adviser of the commonweal, 
This prudent councillor unto his prince, 

Whose wit was busied with his mistress' heale, 
Secret conspiracies could well convince, 
Whose insight pierced like to the sharp-eyed lynx. 

He's dead!" At this her sorrow was so sore; 

And so she wept that she could speak no more. 

THE COMPLAINT OF FORTITUDE. 

Next Fortitude arose unto this knight. 

And by his side sat down with steadfast eyes : 

A broken column 'twixt her arms was pight. 

She could not weep nor pour out yearnful cries : 
From Fortitude such base affects nil rise. 

Brass-renting goddess, she can not lament, 

Yet thus her plaints with breathing sighs were spent. 

"Within the Maiden's court, place of all places, 

I did advance a man of l]igh degree, 
Whom Nature had made proud with all her graces, 

Inserting courage in his noble heart; 

No psrils dread could ever make him start, 
But like to Sceevolo, for country's good 
He did not value for to spenel his blood. 

" His looks were stern, though in a life of peace ; 
Tliough not in wars, yet war hung in his brows ; 

His honor did by martial thoughts increase: 
To martial men living this knight allows. 
And by his sword he solemnly avowed 

Though not in war, yet if that war were here, 

As warriors do to value honor dear. 

* Cheats. 



112 POEMS OF 

"Captains lie kept and fostered them with fee, 
Soldiers were servants to this martial knight; 

Men might his stable full of coursers see, 

Trotters, whose managed looks would some affright 
His armory was rich and warlike dight, 

And he himself, if any need had craved, 

Would as stout Hector have himself behaved. 

"I lost a friend whenas I lost his life." 

Thus plained Fortitude, and frowned withal. 

"Cursed be Atropos, and cursed her knife, 
That made the captain of my guard to fall, 
Whose virtues did his honors high install." 

At this she stormed, and wrung out sighs so sore, 

That what for grief her tongue could speak no more. 

THE COMPLAINT OF TEMPERANCE. 

Then Temperance, with bridle in her hand, 
Did mildly look upon this lifeless lord, 

And like to weeping Niobe did stand: 

Her sorrows and her tears did well accord; 
Their diapason was in selfsame chord. 

"Here lies the man," quoth she, " that breathed out this, 

To shun fond pleasures is the sweetest bliss. 

"No choice delight could draw his eyes awry; 
He was not bent to pleasure's fond conceits 

Inveigling pride, nor world's sweet vanity. 

Love's luring follies with their strange deceits, 
Could wrap this lord within their baneful sleights, 

But he, despising all, said, "Man is grass; 

His date a span, et omnia vanitas.'' 

"Temperate he was, and tempered all his deeds: 
He bridled those affects that might offend; 

He gave his will no more the reins than needs, 
He measured pleasures ever by the end. 
His thoughts on virtue's censures did depend: 

What booteth pleasures that so quickly pass, 

When such delights are fickle like to glass? 



nOBERT GREENE. il3 

" First pride of life, that subtle branch of sin, 
And then the lusting humor of the eyes, 

And base concupiscence, which plies her gin ; 
These sirens that do vrorldlings still entice, 
Could not allure his mind to think of vice ; 

For he said still, pleasure's delight it is 

That holdeth man from heaven's delightful bliss. 

"Temperate he was in every deep extreme, 
And could well bridle his affects with reason. 

What I have lost in losing him then deem. 
Base death, that took away a man so geason, 
That measured every thought by time and season/ 

At this her sighs and sorrows was so sore. 

And so she wept that she could speak no more. 

THE COMPLAINT OF BOUNTY. 

With open hands, and mourning looks dependant. 
Bounty stept forth to wail the dead man's loss : 

On her was love and plenty both attendant. 
Tears in her eyes, arms folded quite across, 
Sitting by him upon a turf of moss. 

She sighed and said, " Here lies the knight deceased. 

Whose bounty Bounty's glory much increased. 

"His looks were liberal, and in his face 

Sate frank Magnificence with arms displayed: 

His open hands discoursed his inward grace ; 
The x^oor were never at their need denaid. 
His careless scorn of gold his deeds bewrayed; 

And this he craved, no longer for to live 

Than he had power, and mind, and will to give. 

"No man went empty from his frank dispose; 

He was a purse-bearer unto the poor : 
He well observed the meaning of this glose. 

None lose reward that giveth of their store. 

To all his bounty passed. Ah me, therefore. 
That he should die!" With that she sighed so sore, 
And so she wept that she could speak no more. 



114 POEMS OF 

THE COMPLAINT OF HOSPITALITY. 

Lame of a leg, as slie had lost a limb, 
Start up kind Hospitality and wept. 

She silent sate awhile, and sighed by him ; 
As one half maimed to this knight she crept: 
At last about his neck this nymph she leapt, 

And witli her cornucopia in her fist. 

For very love his chilly lips she kissed. 

"Ah me! " quoth she, "my love is lorn by death; 
My chiefest stay is cracked, and I am lame: 

He that his almes frankly did bequeath, 

And fed the poor with store of food, the same, 
Even he, is dead, and vanished in his name, 

Wiiose gates were open, and whose almes deed 

Supplied the fatherless and widow's need. 

" He kept no Christmas house for once a year ; 

Each day his boards were filled with lordly fare 
He fed a rout of yeoman with his cheer. 

Nor was his bread and beef kept in with care. 

His wine and beer to strangers were not spare ; 
And yet beside to all that hunger grieved 
His gates were ope, and they were there relieved. 

"Well could the poor tell where to fetch their bre^"'. 

As Baucis and Philemon were i-blest 
For feasting Jupiter in stranger's stead, ^ 

So happy be his high immortal rest. 

That was to hospitality addressed ; 
For few such live." And then she sighed so sore, 
And so she wept that she could speak no more. 

Then Courtesy, whose face was full of smiles. 
And Friendship, with her hand upon her heart. 

And tender Charity, that loves no wiles, 
And Clemency her passions did impart ; 
A thousand Virtues there did straight up start, 

And with their tears and sighs they did disclose 

For Hatton's death their hearts were fuU of woes. 



U- 



ROBERT GREENE. 115 

THE COMPLAINT OF EELIGION. 

Next, from the fnrtliest nook of all the place, 
Weeping full sore, there rose a nymph in black, 

Tjjeml}^ and sober, with an angeVs face, [crack: 

And sighed as if her heartstrings straight should 
Her outward woes bewrayed her inward wrack. 

A golden book she carried in her hand ; 

I^ was lielio'ion that thus meek did stand. 

Gjd wot, her garmeiits were full loosely tucked, 
As one that careless was in some despair: 

To tatters were her robas and vestures plucked, 
Her naked limbs were open to the air: 
Yet for all this her looks were blythe and fau* ; 

And wondering how Religion grew forlorn, 

I spied her robes by Heresy was torn. 

This holy creature sate her by this knight, 

And sighed out this: "Oh! here he lies," quoth she, 

'•Lifeless, that did Relio-ion's lamo still lio'ht: 
Devout without dissembling, meek and free, 
To such whose words and livings did aei^ree : 

Lip-holiness in clergymen he could not brook, 

Ne such as counted crold above their book. 



C) 



'•Upright he lived, as \\o\j writ him led: 
His faith was not in ceremonies old, 

Nor had he newfound toys within his head, 
Ne was he lukewarm, neither hot nor cold; 
But in religion he was constant, bold. 

And still a sworn professed foe to all 

Whose looks were smooth, hearts pharisaical. 

'•The brain-sick and illiterate snrmisers, 
That like to saints would holy be in looks, 

Of fond religion fabulous devisers, 

Who scorned the academies and their books, 
And yet could sin as others in close nooks : 

To such wild-headed mates he was a foe. 

That rent her robes, and wronged Religion so. 



116 POEMS OF 

"Ne was his faith in men's traditions: 
He hated Antichrist and all his trash ; 

He was not led away by superstitions, 
Nor was he in religion over rash : 
His hands from heresy he loved to wash. 

Then, base report, 'ware what thy tongue doth spread. 

'Tis sin and shame for to belie the dead. 

"Heart-holy men he still kept at his table, 
Doctors that well could doom of holy writ: 

By them he knew to sever faith from fable, 
And how the text with judgment for to hit: 
For Pharisees in Moses' chair did sit." 

At this Religion sighed and grieved so sore, 

And so she wept that she could speak no more. 

PKIMATE. 

Next might I see a rout of noblemen. 

Earls, barons, lords, in mourning weeds attired; 

I can not paint their passions with my pen. 
Nor write so quaintly as their woes recjuired. 
Their tears and sighs some Homer's quill desired. 

But this I know, their grief was for his death, 

That there had yielded nature, life, and breath. 

MILITES. 

Then came by soldiers trailing of their pikes, 
Like men dismayed their beavers were adown ; 

Their warlike hearts his death with sorrow strikes, 
Yea, war himself was in a sable gown ; 
For grief you might perceive his visage frown : 

And scholars came by with lamenting cries, 

Wetting their books with tears fell from their eyes. 

PLEBS. 

The common people they did throng in flocks, 
Dewing their bosoms with their yearnful tears. 

Their sighs were such as would have rent the rocks, 
Tlieir faces full of grief, dismay, and fears. 
Their cries struck j^ity in my listening ears: 

For why, the groans are less at hell's black gate, 

Than Echo there did then reverberate. 



ROBERT GREENE. 117 

Some came with scrolls and papers in their hand : 
I guessed them suitors that did rue his loss ; 

Some with their children in their hand did stand; 
Some poor and hungry with their hands across. 
A thousand there sate wailing on the moss : 

"(7 Filter Patrimf'' still they cried thus, 

" Hatton is dead, what shall become of us % " 

At all these cries my heart was sore amoved, 

Which made me long to see the dead man's face; 

What he should be that was so dear beloved, 

Whose worth so deep had won the people's grace. 
As I came pressing near unto the place, 

I looked, and though his face was pale and wan, 

Yet by his visage did I know the man. 

No sooner did I cast mine eye on him, 
But in his face there flashed a ruddy hue ; 

And though before his looks by death were grim, 
Yet seemed he smiling to my gazing view, 
(As if, though dead, my presence still he knew:) 

Seeing this change within a dead man's face, 

I could not stop my tears, but wept apace. 

I called to mind how that it was a knight 
That whilome lived on England's happy soil ; 

I thought upon his care and deep insight. 
For country's weal his labor and his toil 
He took, lest that the English state might foil ; 

And how his watchful thought from first had been 

Vowed to the honor of the maiden Queen. 

I called to mind again he w^as my friend, 
And held my quiet as his heart's content: 

Wliat was so dear for me he would not spend? 

Then thou^'ht I straight such friends are seldom hent 
Thus still from love to love my humor went, 

That pondering of his loyalty so free, 

I wept him dead that living honored me. 



118 POEMS OF 

At this Astrsea, seeing me so sad, 

'Gan blithely comfort me witli this reply: 

"Virgin,'" quoth she, ''no boot by tears is had, 
Nor doth laments aught pleasure them that die. 
Souls must have change from this mortalit}'; 

For living long sin hath the larger space. 

And dying well they find the greater grace. 

'-And sith thy tears bewray thy love," quoth she, 
"His soul with me shall weiid unto the skies; 

His lifeless body I will leave to thee : 

Let that be earthed and tombed in gorgeous wise 
I'll place his ghost among the hierarchies ; 

For as one star another far exceeds, 

So souls in heaven are placed by their deeds." 

With that, methought, within her golden lap, 
(This sun bright goddess smiling with her eye) 

Tlie soul of Hatton curiously did wrajD, 
And in a shroud was taken up on high. 
Vain dreams are fond, but thus as then dreamt L 

And more, methought I heard the angels sing 

An Hallelujah for to welcome him. 

As thus attendant fair Astraea flew. 

The nobles, commons, yea, and every wight. 

That living in his lifetime Hatton knew. 

Did deep lament the loss of that good knight 
But when Astraea was quite out of sight. 

For grief the people shouted such a scream, 

That I awoke, and start out of my dream. 




l:!) 



ciniiSTorriER maelowe. 

1563-4—1593. . 



Of the life of Christopher Marlowe — the most distinguished 
i)f the dramatists wlio immediately preceded Shakspere— nothing 
is known except its beginning and its end. After we have traced 
him from school to college, and from thence to London, he dis- 
appears in the crowds of the metropolis, where he seems to have 
spent his few remaining 3'ears in the service of the stage. 

Christopher, or, as he is familiarly called by his contempo- 
raries. Kit Marlowe, was the son of John Marlowe, a shoemaker, 
and was born at Canterbury in Febrnary, 1563-4. He received 
the elements of his education at the King's School in that city, 
and was afterward placed at Benet (Corpus Christi) College, 
Cambridge, where he matriculated as a pensioner on the 17tli 
March; 1580-1. There were scholarships in the gift of the 
King's School, but it does not appear that Marlowe obtained 
admission to the University as a scholar ; and as it is unlikely 
that his fatlier's circumstances were sufficiently prosperous to 
bear the expenses of his collegiate course, we must infer that 
the cost was defrayed by the assistance of some rich friend or 
patron of the family. This conjecture is strengthened by Mar- 
lowe's Latin verses to the memory of Sir Roger Manwood. who 
resided in the neighborhood of Canterbury, and was munilicent 
in the dispensation of his bounties. To that gentleman Marlowe 
was, probabh', indebted for the completion of his education. 

He passed through the University with credit, taking his de- 
gree of A.B. in 1583, and that of A.M. in 1587. Whatever 
might have been the views of his friends witli respect to his 
settlement in life, Marlowe early relinquished all intention of 
entering any of the professions which usually close the vista of 
a collegiate course. Before he had acquired his last University 



120 cmUSTOPHEn MAP.LOW^. 

honor, he had already closely connected himself with the thea- 
ters. His first play, Tamhurlaine the Great,* was brought out 
previoush' to 1587. and. if the following staten.ent may be relied 
upon, his appearance as a dran.atist was onl}' the sequel to 
former relations witli the si age as an actor. 

"Christopher Marlowe," says Philips, "a kind of second 
Shakspere (whose contemporary he was), not onl}^ because, like 
him, he rose from an actor to be a maker of plays, though inferior 
both in fame and riierit ; but also because in his poem of Hero 
and Leander he seems to have a resemblance of that clear aiul 
unsophisticated wit which is natural to that incomparable poct."t 

There is an error of some ir.agnitude in this passage. Marlowe 
was not the contemporary, but the predecessor of Shakspere; 
and it is a still wider departure from truth to describe him as a 
second Shakspere, meaning thereby a follower who nearl}'- 
equaled his master. The strict observance of chronolog}', as 
far as it can be fixed, is indispensable to the history of what is 
loosely called the Elizabethan drama. Tlie whole period it 
occupied was about half a century; and. considering how mucli 
was accomplished within that time, every step of the progress, 
and each individual's share in it, becomes of importance. Yet 
there is hardlj^any portion of our literary annals in which greater 
confusion prevails ; and Peele and Massinger, Kyd and Webster, 
Greene and Ben Johnson, who were really distant from each 
other, are commonly mixed up together, as if, instead of forming 
an interlinked series, they were all writing simultaneous]}^ It 
might be a q^iestion of minor biographical interest, wdiether 
Marlowe was a little before Shakspere, or Shakspere a little 
before Marlow^e ; but it is a question of a ver}' different order of 
interest, whether the weighty versification of Tamhurlaine pre- 
ceded or followed the delicate melody of the Midsummer JS'ighVs 
Dream. Dates are here essential to enable us to trace the course 
of our dramatic poetry from its source to that point where the 
stream is at its full. Marlowe is close to the spring. To him 
is ascribed, on apparentl}^ valid grounds, the first use of blank 
verse in dramatic composition ; and Ave must, therefore, treat 
him as a poet who struck out a path for himself, aiul not as a 
follower of Sliaksp ere. Indeed, it may be said thnt Mnrlowx had 
* rirst printed in 1590. t Theatrum Poetarum, 



CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 1*?1 

closed his account not onh'" with the stage, \n\i witli all hwnian 
affairs, before Shakspere was known as an (»rigi;:al dra^ ;;tist. 
At all events, it is certain that the lirst notice we lia\'e of Shak- 
spere was published only a few ip.onths Ix-Core the death of ]\I;;r- 
lowe, and that it does not recognize him even as a maker of 
plays of his own, but as an adapter of the plays of others, in- 
cluding some of Marlowe's amongst them. 

Philips is so careless in his statements that he sometimes 
vitiates a fact by his mere manner of presenting it; as, for in- 
stance, when he says that ^Marlowe "rose from an actor to be a 
maker of plays." Tliere was a tradition in his time, which is 
still preserved in an old ballad, that Marlowe had been upo!i the 
stage. It was known also that Shakspere was a member of the 
Lord Chamberlain's company ; but there is no authority what- 
ever for the assertion that tliey had been actors before they be- 
came dramatists. Tlie reverse is much more likely to be true 
of Marlowe. The ballad which refers to his stage career is not, 
perhaps, a very safe authority in itself, having been written 
soon after his death, for the express purpose of exposing the 
irregularities and errors of his life and opinions; but upon this 
single point, supported by Philips, it may be credited. The 
doggerel is precise in its allegations, and affirms not only that 
Marlowe had been a player, but tells us at what theater he 
played : — 

"He had also a player been 
Ul)on tlie Curtain stage, 
But brake his leg in one lewd scene, 
When in his early age." 

The Curtain seems to have been the favorite theater for ex- 
periments in those days, where aspirants passed through their 
novitiate before they were admitted to the lienors of the Black- 
friars or the Globe. It was here Ben Jonson, some years after- 
ward, made his first appearance as actor and poet, and amongst 
its still later celebrities Avas 

"Hey wood sage 
The apologetic Atlas of the stage." * 

The Curtain was under the jurisdiction of the Lord Mayor, and 
stood near the pla^iiouse called the Tlieater, in Shoreditch. 

* Choice Drollery. Son^, and Sonnets. 1G56, Thomas Hey wood, the 
author of The Apology for Actor^. 



1-22 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

According to tlie author of the ballad, Marlowe went upon the 
stage at an earh' age, bnt was obliged to abandon it in conse- 
quence of having l)roken his leg. Of this last circumstance, 
whicli, probably, entailed lanieness on him for life, no other 
record has been traced. Tiie absence of all contemporary allu- 
sion to it is so remarkable, at a time when the town w^as inun- 
daied with lampoons full of personal reflections, that the veracity 
of the ballad-ir.ongor n:ay l;e fairly questioned. Marlowe's halt 
Avould have l)een at least as conspicuous a niark for ribaldry as 
Greene's red nose, or Gabriel Harvey's leanness. 

Tlie tragedy of Tcwibuvlaine the Great, in two parts, was en- 
tered in the Stationers' books on the 14th of August, 1590, and 
published in the same year. Its reception upon the stage was 
so favorable that the second part was brought out immediately 
after the first. Faustus and The JeiD of Malta speedil}- followed. 
In all these pieces, whicli were highly successful, Allej'u played 
the principal characters. The next play was ^tfw:ar£Z //., said 
b}- Warton to have been written in 1590. The Massacre of Paris, 
s;u")posed to be the piece noted by Henslowe in his Diary as the 
Tragedy of the Guise, was acted for the first time on tlie 30tli of 
January, 1598. It was probably the last of Marlowe's produc- 
tions. AileAHi played the chief part in this play also. Heywood 
celebrated the alliance between Marlowe and Alle3m in a pro- 
logue he wrote for the revival of The Jexc of Malta in 1633. 
Tl;e lines are interesting as an eyidence of the estimation in 
which jMarlowe was held as one of the fathers of the stage : — 

""V^e Iviiow not how our play may pass this stage, 
Ent by the host of iioets iu that age 
The Malta Jew liad being and was made; 
And he then by the best of actors jdayed." 

Nash and Greene had both preceded Mailowe in London, and 
there is reason to suppose that he had not entered into any inter- 
course with them when he brought Tamhurlaine upon the stage. 
Tills inference is drawn from Nash's preliminary Epistle to 
Greene's Menaphon, 1587, in Avhich lie indirectly satirizes Mar- 
lowe and his ncAv-fashioned style, which he describes as the 
''swelling bombast of bragging blank verse." 

Nash and Marlowe were contemporaries at Cambridge, where 
Nash obtained his Bachelor's degree in 1585. and left the College 



CHRTSTOPHER MARLOWE. 123 

without beinir allowed to take o;;t his Master's deirree in 1587, 
the year in whicli it was conferred on Mai'lowe.* It w^as natural 
enough that Nasli should feel jealous of a member of his own 
University, who had just taken out honors from wliich he liad 
been himself excluded; and his frequent use in the Epistle of 
the term "art-masters "confirms the suspicion that lie was giving 
vent to a feeling of personal vexation. The application of these 
censures to Marlowe is placed almost beyond discussion b\- a 
passage in Greene's address to his Perimedes, published in the 
following year, which, referring openly to that "atheist Tam- 
burlaine," and the " blaspheming with the mad priest of the sun," 
is evidently a continuation of the previous attack by Nash. 

It is not known at wiiat time Nash, Greene, and Marlowe 
formed that connection in wiiich we find their names subse- 
quently associated: but it could not have been ver^Mong after 
the publication of these invectives, as in four or five j'ears fro:n 
tliat date both Greene and Marlowe were dead. Meeting in the 
theater, the center of their labors and their dissipation, they soon 
discovered those kindred tastes wdiich afterward drev/ them con- 
stantly together; while the encroachments Shakspere was be- 
ginning to make about this period upon their position as dramatic 



* The materials for Xasli's biography are scanty, and tlie few details 
furnished from different sources involve contradiction. He was a native 
of Lowestoff. in Suffolk, where it has been hitlierto supposed he was bora 
about 15o4; but recent i'.ivesti;rati(ms have discovered that he was chris- 
tened in Xoveraber. 1567. See Shakspere Society Papers, iii. 178. Mr. Collier 
(History of the Stage, iii. 110) says that Xash entered St. John's College, 
Cambridge, in 15S5, antl was obliged to leave the University in 1587 witliout 
taking liis degree. It does not appear upon what authority this statement 
is made, but it is irreconcilable with Harvey's assertions in a pamplilct 
published in Nasii's lifetiiae, called Tke Trimming of Thomas J\"a.s7i. Gentle- 
man, 1597, from which we learn that wiiile he was at Cambridge he wrote 
part of a satirical show called Terminus et non Terminus, that the person 
■who was concerned in it with him was expelled, and that Xash. who v.-a3 
of seven years' sraiuliug, left tlie College about 1587. lie then went uu to 
London, where lie joined Greene, wlio h:id been cducr.ted at St. John'.s 
College. The remainder of Xash's life was pass(>d in profllgncv and dis- 
tress, and a considerable portion of it in the jaiis of the metropolis. Ll^ce 
Greene, he became penitent toward the end, and in a i)amphlet entith d 
Chri.d's Tears Oeer Jerusalem expressed contrition for his writings and his 
conduct. He died iu IGOO or IGOl. 



12 i CHBISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

writers, imparted something lil<.e a cliaracter of combination to 
their fellowship. The}^ had a common interest in opposing the 
new luminary who was climbing the horizon of the stage with a 
broader and clearer luster than their own ; and we can easily 
imagine, without drawing au}^ very fanciful picture, that the 
discussion of Shakspere's pretensions, and the denunciation of 
his depredations on their manor, stimulated them at their orgies 
to many an additional flask of Rhenish. 

Greene was, probably, the leader on such occasions. He was 
the oldest of the three ; he had traveled, and brought liome with 
him tlie vices of Italy and France ; and he had been established 
in London before either of the other two had found his waj^ to 
the metropolis. For this pre-eminence he paid a bitter penalty 
In the end. Subsequent circumstances show that his compan- 
ions shunned the responsibilit}" of his friendship when the full 
glare of publicity fell upon the errors of his life, in which they 
had themselves so largely participated. The}^ deserted him in 
his last illness, and after his death disowned the terms of inti- 
macy on which they had lived together.* 

Marlow^e was deeply implicated in these excesses. He was 
one of that group of dramatists whose lives and writings were 
held up to public execration by the zealots who attacked the 
stage ; and Greene has left an express testimony of the hight to 
which Marlowe carried the frenzy of dissipation. In his address 
to his old associates, he implores them to abandon their wicked 
mode of life, their blaspheming, drinking, and debauchery, set- 
ting forth hi^own example as a fatal warning; and he specially 
exhorts Marlowe to repentance by reminding him that they had 
formerly said together, like the fool in his heart, "There is no 
God." This admonition, written under the influence of a death- 
bed conversion, can scarcely be considered sufficient to justify 
the im.putation of deliberate atheism. It seems intended rather 
to warn Marlow^e against the revolting levity of speech in which 
they had both indulged, and which was a sort of fashion in the 
dissolute society they frequented, than to accuse him of syste- 
matic skepticism. The charge, however, was afterward bi'ought 

* ISTash's disavowal was explicit. lu liis Strange Keives he loinidly as- 
serted that he had not been "Gieeue's compauiou auy more than for a 
carouse or two." 



CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 125 

forward in a specific shape by Thomas Beard, a Puritan minister 
of tlie most ascetic and uncompromising cast. Talking advantage 
of Marlowe's deatli to illustrate the terrible punishment which, 
even in this world, awaits the sinner who denies his God, he 
asserted that Marlowe had in his conversation blasphemed the 
Trinit}^ and had also written a book against the Bible.* But 
no such book is known to exist, and the allegation rests on the 
sole authority of Beard, t who himself repeats it upon hearsay. 
Marlowe's plays, which Beard is supposed to have attacked in 
another publication, t furnish no more tenable grounds for the 
charge of atheism than Paradise Lost; and Milton might just as 
rationally be held responsible for the sentiments he has put into 
the mouth of Satan, as Marlowe for the speculations, strictly 
rising out of the circumstances of the scene, which he has given 

* Theatre of God's Judgments, 1597. 
t It ou<:lit, perhaps, to be mentioned that a person named Bame prepared 
a note of Marlowe's "damnable opinions," witli a view to a civil process, 
which was averted by the death of the poet. Apart from the intrinsic ab- 
surdity and evident malignity of some of Same's statements, the value of 
his testimony may be estimated from the fact that the man who thus un- 
dertook to sit in judgment upon the religions opinions of another was 
afterward hanged at Tyburn. I set aside altogether, as being wholly un- 
worthy of consideiatioii. some MS. notes of an anonymous scribe, written 
nearly fifty years after Marlowe's death, in a copy of Hero and Leander, 
in the possession of Mr. Collier. The writer asserts that Marlowe was an 
atheist, and that he made somebody else become an atheist. TThen we 
learn who the writer was, we shall know what amount of credit to attach 
to his authoritj'. 

} Peter Primaudaye's work on man, entitled TTie French Academie, trans- 
lated into English in two volumes, by T. B. The first volume of this 
translation was published in 1586, and the second in 1594. An Epistle to 
the Reader, prefixed by the translator to the second volume, leaves little 
doubt as to the identity of T. B. In this elaborate address, the writer 
breal<s out with great vehemence upon the subject of atheism ; and. after 
adducing several examples, refers specially to the recent case of Greene. 
He next proceeds to denounce the writings of Greene and "his crew," and 
to demand the restriction of the press as a protection against their pro- 
fanity. He is particularly scandalized at the love pamphlets ; and his con- 
demnation of the stage-plays is sweetung and indiscriminate, although he 
adds that 'this commendation of them hath lately passed the press, that 
tliey are rare exercisers of virtue." Beard closes his diatiibe against the 
plays and other pestilential writings by proposing that they should all be 
collected in St. Paul's churchyard, where most of them were printed, and 
publicly burned as "a sweet-smelling sacrifice unto the Lord." 



126 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

to some of his characters iu The Jeic of Malta and in Doctor 
Faustus. Marlowe's writings contain ample evidence of licen- 
tiousness and laxity of principle, but supply no proof tliat he 
held atheistical opinions. To wliat extent the practical impiety 
of his life may have justified such an imputation, it would be 
presumptuous to hazard a judgment. 

Greene died in September, 1592. Ilis GroaVs Worth of Wit^ 
edited by Chettle,* was published immediately afterwards.! The 
genuineness of the pamphlet was doubted ; and suspicion of the 
authorship fell upon Nash. It was also, in some quarters, as- 
criVied to Chettle. They both denied it ; and we learn from 
Chettle's disclaimer that Marlowe and Shakspere took offense at 
the personal reflections made upon them, and went so far as to 
charge Chettle with having fabricated the work himself. Ilis 
reply possesses a direct interest in reference to Marlowe, as it 
distinctly indicates that Greene had written w^orse things about 
him than Chettle had published. 

With neither of them that take offense was I acquainted, and with one 
of them I care not if I never he ; the other, whom at this time I did not so 
much spare as since I wish I liad, for that as I liave moderated the lit-at 
of living wiiters, and miglit have used my own discretion (especially in 
such a case), the author being dead, that I did not, I am as sorry as if the 
original fault had been my fault, because myself have seen his demeanor 
no less civil than he excellent in the quality he professes; besides, divers 
of worship have reported his uprightntss of dealing, which augurs his 
honesty, and his facetious grace in writing, that approves his art. For the 
first, whose learning I reverence, and, at the perusing of Greene's book, struck 

* Henry Chettle was one of the most prolific jilaywriglits of his day. 
He is supposed to have been concerned in the pioduction of forty i)ieccs. 
Of his merits as a drainatist we have but impeifect means of forming an 
opinion, only four pieces conjectured to be his having come down to us. 
Although he wrote some grave and poiuleious scenes, his strength lay 
chit-fly in humor, of which we have an excellent sample in Babulo, the 
clown iu Patient Grissell. iSIeres, iu his Palladis Tamia. 1598, speahs of 
Chettle as being one "of the best for comedy." Chettle seems to have 
been originally a compositor, and was certainly engaged in the printing 
business in 1591. He died about 1G07. and is mentioned by Dekker iu his 
Knight's Con jir'ing, "in comes Chettle, sweating and blowing by reason 
of hi.s fatness." 

t Greene died on the 3d of September, and on the 20th the GroaVs Worth 
of Wit was eutered on the Stationers' Eegister. 



CHRISrorilEIl MARLOWE. 127 

o%it what then in conscience I thought he had in some displeasure writ; or had 
it been true, yet to j^ublish it was intolerable : him I u'ould ivish to use now n6 
worse tlian I desei ver 

The lines in italics plainly refer to Marlowe, whose character 
conies out in painful contrast to that of Shakspere. The expla- 
nation is creditable to the manliness of Chettle. Compelled to 
relieve himself from the aspersion of having fabricated a pam- 
phlet in Greene's name, he expresses regret that he had not ex- 
ercised his editorial discretion over the passage that reflected on 
Shakspere, having subsequently learned how upright he was in 
liis conduct ; but he expresses no regret at what he had pub- 
lished concerning Marlowe. He knew neither of them, and had 
no desire to know Marlowe. From this single sentence we m.ay 
collect the opinion that w^as entertained of 3Iarlowe, even among 
people who were not repelled from associating with him by re- 
ligious scruples, who were, like himself, playrights and poets, 
and who held no comnmuion with him, although they mixed 
constantly in the society with which he was intimately con- 
nected. Chettle was one of the inferior writers for the stage; 
a drudge in all sorts of literature; and no doubt passed his life 
in a perpetual struggle against povert}'. Yet this comparatively 
obscure man, always distinguished by the modesty with which 
he speaks of himself, did not hesitate to publish to the world 
that he had no desire to be acquainted with Marlowe, who, 
whatever were the vices of his private life, enjoyed considerable 
reputation as a successful dramatist, and w^as the associate of 
Nash, one of Chettle's earliest friends. From this explanation 
we also gather that Greene had written worse of Marlowe than 
that he had spoken irreverently ; but that Chettle had suppressed 
it, thinking it was written in displeasure, possibly because 
Marlowe had deserted him in his hour of need. IIow much 
worse it was may be inferred from Chettle's statement that, 
even if it had been true, and not written in displeasure, he 
would still have suppressed it, because it w'as "intolerable" to 
publish. 

Marlowe's anxiety to vindicate his character satisfied itself in 
an explosion of anger. He made no public protest against the 



* Kind-Sart' J Dream. lo\)-2. 



1-28 C Hill &T OP HER MARLOWE. 

aspersion of iinpietj", nor did he take any pains otherwise to 
sliow that it was unfounded. Neither Greene's solemn warning, 
nor the contempt of Cliettle, produced an}' effect upon his life. 
He contifmed from this time to pursue the same course which 
had hitherto drawn so much censure upon him, and which was 
destined within a few months to bring his career to a sudden 
and tragical close. 

In the following June he was killed by a man to whom "he 
owed a grudge," and who was said to have been his rival under 
circumstances discreditable to both. The man, Avhose name was 
Francis Archer,* appears to have acted in self-defense. Accord- 
ing to the relations which are given of the storj', Archer had 
asked Marlowe to a feast at Deptford, and wiiile they were 
playing at backgammon, Marlowe suddenly drew out his dagger 
and attempted to stab his host; when Archer, perceiving his 
intention, avoided the blow, and quickly seizing his own dagger, 
struck Marlowe in the eye, bringing away the brains as he with- 
drew the weapon. Medical aid was immediately procured, but 
it was unavailing. Marlowe died in a few hours.! Of the issue, 
with reference to Archer, nothing is known. 

Thus perished, at the untimely age of thirty j^ears, in a mean 
brawl, the greatest dramatic poet in the English language ante^ 
rior to Shakspere. 

Amongst the papers Marlowe left behind him were the un- 
finished tragedy of Bido, afterwards completed for the stage by 
Kash, and the commencement of a paraphrase of the Greek 
poem of Hero and Leander, which Chapman brought to a con- 
clusion. Independently of the plays Marlowe is known to have 



* The burial register of the cburch of St. Nicholas, Deptford, contains 
tlie following entry: — "Christoi^her Marlowe, slain by Francis Arcbtr, 
the ICth Jnne, 1593.' This record disposes ofVaugban's statement [Tie 
Golden Grove: 1600.1 that the name of Marlowe's antagonist vvas Ingram- 
and of Aubrey's story that it was Ben Jonson who "killed Mr. Marlowe, 
tlie poet, on Bnnbill, coming from the Green Cnrtain playhonse." In 
Jon.son's case, tlie circumstances were altogether different, tlie person he 
Ivilk'd, Gabriel Spencer, an actor, haying challenged him. The duel took 
place in Hoxton Fields, in September, 1598, five years after the death of 
Marlowe. See Life of Jonson, Ann. Ed., \>. 10. 

t There are two or three vcr.^ions of the catastroi»hc, differing in slight 
particulars, but agreeing upon the main. 



CUEIST OP HE n MAELOWE. 129 

written, lie is supposed to have been concerned in others, to 
so:ne of which Shalcspere v.'as largely indebted in the structure 
of ihn.'e of his dramas.* 

Marlowe laid the foundation of English dramatic poetry in 
blank verse, which he brought to its highest perfection. Ben 
Jonson's panegyric is familiar to all readers; but the "mighty 
line" does not include the whole of Marlowe's merits. His ver- 
siiication is full of variety, and equalh' susceptible of the most 
luscious sweetness and the utmost force. The rhythm ahvays 
obeys the emotion, and its melody is not to be tested b}" a me- 
chanical standard. The sense is not adapted to the numbers, 
but the numbers to the sense : and, the meaning being clearly 
understood, the verse becom.es a strain of music. His diction 
is rich and nervous ; his imager}' profuse, and frequently drawn 
from recondite sources. As he is often extravagant, so he is 

* 1. The First Fart of the Contention of the Houses of York and Fjancastcr. 
2. The True Tragedy of Richard, Duke of York. 3. The Taming of the Shrcio. 
ITpoii the former two Sbaksjiere foniuled the Second and Third Pints of 
Henru F7., and upon the last his phiy of t'.ie sarao name. There ;ire 60 
many exti'aoidinary coincidences of expression between the old Taming 
of the Shrew and Marlowe's acknowledged writings, that Mr. Dyce thinks 
it could not have been written by Marlowe himself, but must have been 
t'lie work of an imitator. A writer in Notes and Queries opposes to this 
opinion the argument that the corresponding passages are so extrusive 
and literal as to constitute, not imitations, but thefts, and that, if the3- are 
thefts, the thief would assuiedly have availtd hiinself of other -writers, and 
not confined his depredations to Marlowe. 4. The Troublesome Reign of 
King John, in Two Parts. 5. Lust's Dominion, itr. Dyce leje. ts this 
lilay from ;iis edition of Marlowe's woiks, because there are certain allu- 
sions in the first scene which could not have been wiitten till after Mar- 
lowe's death. By parity of reasoning he should have rejected Faustu-v, 
which he adopts. In the case <>i Lust's Dominion, as in that af Fau.stus, 
we have a right to assume that interi>olati<ins were introduced, fi'oni time 
to time, according to the cu.stom of the theaters. The most direct evidence 
in fav(U- of Marlowe's authoiship of tliis Tilay is, that the eailiest edition 
Ix ar.s his name on the tillepagc — a species of evidence we ai-e no; jiistiiieil 
in igiioriiig on speculative gioiinds. G. The Maiden s Holiday. A comedy 
bearing this nanu; was enteicil in the Stationers' books on the 8lli April, 
](>."i4, as the joint jiroduction of ^Tarlowe and Day; but it was never 
printed, and the MS. was destroyed by Warburtons cook. It has been 
conjectured al.so that i\rarlowe was the author of Z,«c?-wie awA T'dus An- 
dronicus. and of some play, apparently allmled to by Greene (see ante, p. 

12.3.) in which there was a prie.ct of the sun. But there is no evidence in 
support of these conjectures. 



130'. CHBISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

sometimes flat and prosaic ; and, considering the higlit to which 
lie occasionally soars above his immediate contemporaries, he 
may be pi-onounced the most unequal of them all. But it should 
be recollected that the dramatist of that da}^ addressed only one 
tribunal. His object was to produce a play that would act well, 
not one that would read well. The fear of print was not before 
his eyes, and he was careless in proportion of those conditions 
of finish and completeness which are dem.anded by the criticism 
of tlie closet. 

Tlie comic scenes which interleave Marlowe's plays are coarse, 
heavy, and generally gross. But he had a quality of humor of 
a singular kind, which appears when it is least expected in situa- 
tions of grief or terror. AVe have a remarkable example of this 
in The Jew of Malta, where Friar Jacomo, seeing the dead body 
of Friar Barnardine standing against a wall with a staff in its 
hands, addresses it, and, not receiving any answer, knocks it 
down, upon which he is accused of the murder, — a tragical 
issue produced by farcical means, and showing how closely 
tragedy and farce lie together. 

IMarlowe's strength was not that of intensity in the sense of 
concentration. It consisted in the power of accumulation which 
conquers by repeated blows. His details are often hyperbolical, 
and his characters, divorced from the action and the surrounding 
figures, are little better than superb exaggerations of humanit}'. 
His plays will not bear this kind of dissection: they must be 
grasped as a whole in the entiret}' of their burning passion and 
Titanic energies. The desio:n is alwavs vast, and commai;ds 
attention b}' its breadth and boldness. There is a barl)aric gran- 
deur In Tamlurlaine, which seizes forcibly on the imagination, 
in spite of the means b}^ which it is brought about. It is prepos- 
terous enough to see Tamburlaine drawn in his chariot by captive 
kings with bits in their mouths, and to hear him reproaching 
them for not going faster than twenty miles a da}'- ; yet there is 
something almost sublime in the conception of vanquishing en- 
tire regions, carrying victory into remote countries almost with 
the certainty of fate, and then exhibiting to the world the em- 
blems of this mighty power in the persons of the harnessed 
kings. It may awaken ludicrous associations to hear Tambur- 
laine's expression of surprise when he feels the approach of sick- 



CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 131 

ness, as if ho who had overawed mortaHty iu others must him- 
self be iainiortal; and liis proposal to go forth and figl)t Death, 
as lie had fought other enemies, is simply absurd; but it is a 
stroke of genius, in immediate relation with all this, to repi-esent 
Death as being afraid to come too near him, and making his 
approaches as it were by stealth, every time Tamburlaine turns 
aside his head. Tlie manner in which Faustus sells himself to 
the devil will make the modern reader smile; but assurediv the 
heaping up of the horrors, hour after hour, as the moment whea 
the forfeit is to be paid draws near, is profoundly tragical. 

The poen:!s that are not dramatic possess all of Marlowe's ex- 
cellences liberated from his excesses. The most important of 
them is Uei-o and Leander. How admirably it is executed will 
be felt upon reaching the continuation by "cloud-grappling 
Chapman," who, though possessing great original povv'ers, fails 
infinitely short of the luxury of description and exquisite versi- 
fication of his predecessor. The Song of the Passionate Shepherd, 
which has retained its popularity for nearly three hundred years, 
is the best known, as it is one of the most beautiful, of Marlowe's 
compositions. To these is added, in the present volume, a trans- 
lation of The First Book of Lucan, which presents especial 
claims to preservation as the second example of the kind iu 
English, and as affording, by its closeness, being rendered line 
for line, a curious means of comparison Avith the more elaborate 
version of Rowe. Marlowe also produced a translation of 
Ovid's Elegies, which the Bishops ordered to be burnt for it3 
licentiousness. 




132 



POEMS 



OF 



CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 



HERO AND LEANDER. 

[The fragment of this poem left by Marlowe extends only to 
the end of the Second Sestiad. It was published for the first 
time in 1598, and was reprinted in 1600, with Chapman's com- 
pletion of the paraphrase. A third edition appeared in 1G06, 
followed by subsequent editions in 1609, 1613, 1629, and 1637. 
Marlowe's portion obtained great popularity immediatel}^ after 
it appeared in print. Lines were quoted from it in the plays of 
Shakspere and Ben Jonson; and it M'as frequently alluded to by 
other contemporar}^ writers. 

The liberal scale upon which Marlowe planned the paraphrase 
(which Warton ])y an oversight describes as a translation) ele- 
vates it in some degree to the dignity of a creation. Drawing 
his subject from the Greek poem ascribed to Musaeus, he enriches 
it with luxurious additions, which not only impart a new char- 
acter to the piece, but expand it considerably beyond the scope 
or design of its original. Indeed, little more is taken from 
Musa?us than the story. The poetical drapery and passionate 
descriptions belong wholly to Marlowe. Mr. Hallam does in- 
justice to this work when he dismisses it as a ''paraphrase of a 
most licentious kind." The Venus and Adonis and The Rape 
of Lucrece are open to the same charge. Licentiousness of treat- 
ment in poems of this nature was the common characteristic of 
the age, and not a specialty in Marlowe, Avho emi ployed it with 
a grace and sweetness reached by none of his contemporaries 
except Shakspere. 



CHllTSTOPIIEM MARLOWE. 



ir.:3 



It may be inferred from an allusion in Meres's Palladls Tamia, 
that Cliapnian's continuation was v.-ritten and circulated in man- 
uscript so early as 1598, altliougli not published for two years 
afterwards. A passage in the Tliird Sestiad seems to imply that 
the continuation was undertaken at the request of Marlowe; 
but the meaning is by no means clear. ]\rarlowe apparently in- 
tended that the poem should be one entire piece. Chapman, 
however, broke it up into Sestiads, and prefixed a rliyming 
"Argument" to each. Whether the narrative derives any ad- 
vantage from this formal distribution of the action ri.ay be 
doubted ; but it is, at all events, useful as lielping to mark dis- 
tinctly where Marlowe ended and Chapman began. The reader 
will at once feel the difference in passing from the musical flow 
and choice diction of Marlowe to the rugged versification and 
uncouth pedantry of Chapman. It is like a burst of harsh and 
dissonant trumpets coming after the voluptuous melody of flutes. 
But there are great merits in Cliapman notwithstanding. Al- 
though frequently obscure, he is often profound, and alwji}-s 
vigorous. His descriptions, generally overloaded with crude 
ornaments, are sometimes full of beauty and dignity : and. occa- 
sionally, but ver}^ rarely, lie betraj's an unexpected touch of 
tenderness.] 




134 



CHRISTOPHEM MARLOWE. 



DEDICATION. 



TO THE RIGHT WOESHITFTJL SIR THOMAS WALSINGHAM., 

KNIGHT. 



Sir: "We thiiilv not ourselves discharged of the duty we owe to our 
frieud when we have brought the breathless body to the earth; for, albeit 
the eye there taketh his ever-farewell of that beloved object, yet the im- 
pression of the man that hath been dear unto us, living an after-life in our 
memory, there putteth us in mind of farther obsequies due unto the de- 
ceased; and mimely of the performance of whatsoever we may judge shall 
make to his living credit and to the effecting of his determinations pre- 
vented by the stroke of death. By these meditations (as by an intellectual 
will) I suppose myself executor to the unhai)pily deceased author of this 
poem; upon whom, knowing that in his lifetime you bestowed many kind 
favors, entertnining the parts of reckoning and worth which you found in 
him with good countenance and libeial affection, I can not but see so far 
into the will of him dead, that whatsoever issue of his brain should chance 
to come abroad, that the first breath it should take might be the gentle 
air of your liking; for, since his self had been accustomed thereunto, it 
would prove more agreeable and thriving to his right children than any 
other foster countenance whatsoever. At this time, seeing that this un- 
finished tragedy happens under my hands to be imprinted, of a double 
duty, the one to yourself, the other to the deceased, I present the same to 
your uio.st favorable alloAvance. offering my utmost self now and ever to be 
ready at your worships disposing. 

EDWAED BLUNT.* 




* Edward Blunt was the publisher of the first edition of Hero and Lean- 
der. This dedication, together with tlie whole of the poem, was reprinted 
by Sir Egertou Brydges in the RestitiUa. 



UERO AND LEANDER. 135 



THE FIRST SESTIAD. 

THE ARGUMENT OF THE FIllST SESTIA.U 

Hero's description ami her loves ; 
Tlie fane of Venus, where he moves 
His worthy love-suit, and attains; 
Wliose bliss the wrath of Fates restrains 
For Cupid's grace to Mercury : 
Which talc the author doth implj'. 

On Hellespont, guilty of true love's blood, 

In view and opposite two cities stood, 

Sea-borderers, disjoined by Neptune's might; 

The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight. 

At Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero the fair, 

Whom young Apollo courted for her hair, 

An 1 offered as a dower his burning throne, 

Where she should sit, for men to gaze upon. 

The outside of her garments were of lawn. 

The lining, purple silk, vdth gilt stars drawn ; 

Her wide sleeves green, and bordered with a grove^ 

Where Venus in her naked glory strove 

To please the careless and disdainful eyes 

Of proud Adonis, that before her lies ; 

Her kirtle blue, whereon was many a stain, 

Made with the blood of wretched lovers slain. 

Upon her head she wore a myrtle wreath, 

From whence her veil reached to the ground beneath; 

Her veil was artificiil flowers and leaves, 

AVhose workmanship both man and beast deceives: 

Many would praise the sweet smell as she past. 

When 'twas the odor which her breath forth cast ; 

And there for honey-bees have sought in vain, 

And, beat from thence, have lighted there again. 

About her neck hung chains of pebble-stone, 

Which, lightened by her neck, like diamonds shone. 

She ware no gloves; for neither sun nor wind 

Would burn or parch her hands, but, to her mind, 

Or warm or cool them, for they took delight 

To play upon those hands, they were so white. 



136 CnRISTOPHER MAELOWE. 

Buskins of shells, all silvered, used she, 

And branched with blushing coral to the knee; 

Wnere sparrows perched, uf hollow pearl and gold, 

Su'^h as the ^vorld would wonder to behold: 

Thos3 with sweet water oft her handmaid fills, 

Wnich, as she ^yent, would cherrup through the bills 

Some say, for lier the fairest Cupid pined. 

And, looking in her face, was strooken blind. 

But this is true : so like w^as one the other, 

As he imigined Hero was his mother; 

And oftentimes into her bosom flew, 

About her naked neck .his bare arms threw, 

And laid his childish head upon her breast. 

And, with still panting rock, there took his rest. 

83 lovely fair was Hero, Venus' nun. 

As Nature wept, thinking she was undone, 

Because she took more from her than she left, 

And of such wondrous beauty her bereft: 

Therefore, in sign her treasures suffered wrack, 

Since Hero's time hath half the world been black. 

Amorous Leander, beautiful and j^oung, 
(Wiiose tragedy divine Musse'US sung,) 
Dwelt at Abydos ; since him dwelt there none 
For wnom succeeding times make greater moan. 
His dangling tresses, that were never shorn, 
H^l thejT" been ^ut, and unto Colchos borne. 
Would have allured the venturous youth of Greer^ 
To hazard more than for the golden fleece. 
Fair Cynthia wished his arms might be her sphej-e- 
Grief makes her pale, because she moves not there. 
His body w?.s "S straight as Circe's wand ; 
Jove might h'^ve sipt out nectar from his hand. 
Even as deliciou^^ mea^. is to the taste, 
So was his neck in toiichhig. and surj^ast 
Tiie white of Pelops' shoulder: I could tell ye. 
How smooth his breast was. a?id how white hi« be)A' 
Anl whose immortal fingers did inijDrint 
That heavenly path with many a curious dint- 
Tiiat runs along his back; but my rude pen 
Can hardly blazon forth the loves ot m^n. 



HERO AND LEANBER. 1:37 

Much less of powerful gods : let it suffice 

That my slack Muse smgs of Leander's eyes; 

Those orient cheeks and lips, exceeding his 

That leapt into the ^Yater for a kiss 

Of his own shadow,* and, despising many, 

Died ere he could enjoy the love of any. 

Had wild Hippolytus Leander seen. 

Enamored of his beauty had he been : 

His presence made the rudest peasant melt, 

That in the vast uplandish country dwelt; 

The barbarous Thracian soldier, moved wdth nought, 

Was moved with him, and for his favor sought. 

Some swore he was a maid in man's attire, 

For in his looks were all that men desire, — 

A pleasant-smiling cheek, a speaking eye, 

A brow for love to banquet royally ; 

And such as knew he w'as a man, would say, 

''Leander, thou art made for amorous play: 

Wh}^ art thou not in love, and loved of air? 

Though thou be fair, yet be not thine own thrall." 

The men of wealthy Sestos every year. 
For his sake whom their goddess held so dear, 
Rose-cheeked Adonis, kept a solemn feast; 
Thither resorted many a wandering guest 
To meet their loves: such as had none at all, 
Came lovers home from this great festival ; 
For every street, like to a firmament. 
Glistered with breathing stars, who, where they went, 
Frighted the melancholy earth, wdiich deemed 
Eternal heaven to burn, for so it seemed, 
As if another Phaeton had got 
The guidance of the sun's rich chariot. 
But, far above the loveliest, Hero sinned, 
And stole away tli" enchanted gazer's mind ; 
For like sea-n^^mphs' inveigling harmony. 
So was her beauty to the standers by; 
Nor that night-wandering, pale, and watery starf 
(When yawning dragons draw her thirling car 

* Narcissus. 
t Diana or Hecate, wliose car is said to be drawn from Latmus' luountj 
because it was there she used to meet her lover Endymiou. 



138 cnmsToPBEn marlowe. 

From Latiiius' mount up to the gloomy sky, 

"Where, crowned with blazing- light and majesty, 

She proudly sits) more overrules the flood 

Than she the hearts of those that near her stood. 

Even as when gaudy nymphs pursue the chase, 

"Wretched Ixion's shaggy-footed race, 

Incensed with savage heat, gallop amain 

From steep j^ine-bearing mountains to the plain, 

So ran the people forth to gaze upon her, 

And all that viewed her were enamored on her-- 

And as in fury of a dreadful fight, 

Their fellows being slain or put to flight, 

Poor soldiers stand with fear of death dead-strooken, 

So at her presence all surprised and tooken. 

Await the sentence of her scornful eyes ; 

He whom she favors lives; the other dies: 

There might you see one sigh ; another rage ; 

And some, their violent passions to assuage, 

Compile sharp satires ; but, alas, too late ! 

For faithful love will never turn to hate ; 

And many, seeing great princes were denied. 

Pined as they went, and thinking on her died. 

On this feast-day, — oh, cursed day and hour !— 

Went Hero thorough Sestos, from her tower 

To Venus' temple, where unhappily. 

As after chanced, they did each other spy. 

So fair a church as this had Venus none : 

The walls were of discolored jasper-stone, 

Wherein was Proteus carved ; and overhead 

A lively vine of green sea-agate spread. 

Where by one hand light-headed Bacchus hung, 

And with the other wine from grapes outwrung. 

Of crystal shining fair the pavement was ; 

The town of Sestos called it Venus' glass: 

There might you see the gods, in sundry shapes, 

Committing heady riots, incest, rapes ; 

For know, that underneath this radiant floor 

Was Danae's statue in a brazen tower; 

Jove slily stealing from his sister's bed, 

To dally with Idalian Ganymed, 



HERO AND LEANDER. 139 

And for his love Europa bellowing loud, 

And tumbling with the Rainbow in a cloud; 

Blood-quaffing Mars heaving the iron net 

AVhicli limping Vulcan and his Cyclops set; 

Love kindling firC; to burn such towns as Troy ; 

Sylvanus weeping for the lovely boy* 

That now is turned into a cypress-tree, 

Under whose shade the wood-gods love to be. 

And in the midst a silver altar stood: 

There Hero, sacrificing turtles' blood, 

Vailed to the ground, veiling her eyelids close ; 

And modestly they opened as she rose: 

Thence flew Love's arrow with the golden head ; 

And thus Leander w^as enamored. 

Stone-still he stood, and evermore he gazed, 

Till with the fire, that from his countenance blazed 

Relenting Hero's gentle heart was strook : 

Such force and virtue hath an amorous look. 

It lies not in our power to love or hate, 
For will in us is overruled b}^ fate. 
When two are stript, long ere the course begin, 
We wish that one should lose, the other win ; 
And one especially do we affect 
Of two gold ingots, like in each respect: 
The reason no man knows ; let it suffice, 
What we behold is censuredf by our eyes. 
Where both deliberate, the love is slight: 
Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight ?| 

He kneeled ; but unto her devoutly prayed : 
Chaste Hero to herself thus softly said, 
" Were I the saint he worships, I would hear him ;" 
And,as she spake those words,came somewhat near him, 

* Cjparissus. 
t Literally, judged by our eyes. To censure, as used by the early writers, 
did not imply to give au unfavorable judgment, but siniiily to proiiounce 
an opinion. 

+ Mr. Dyce points out the following passage in which Shakspere has 
quoted this line: — 

"Dead shepherd! now I Und thy saw of might — 
W^ho ever loved, that loved not at first sight ? " 

Jls Tou Jj^ke It, iii. 5. 



140 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

He started up ; she blnslied as one ashamed ; 

Wlierevrith Leander much more was inflamed. 

He touched her hand; in touching it she trembled: 

Love deeply grounded, hardl}^ is dissembled. 

These lovers parled by the touch of hands : 

True love is mute, and oft amazed stands. 

Thus while dumb signs their yielding hearts entangled. 

The air with sparks of living fire was spangled; 

And Night, deep-drenched in misty Acheron, 

Heaved up her head, and half the world upon 

Breathed darkness forth (dark night is Cupid's day): 

And now begins Leander to display 

Love's holy tire, with words, with sighs, and tears; 

Which, like sweet music, entered Hero's ears; 

And yet at every word she turned aside, 

And always cut him off, as he replied. 

At last, like to a bold sharp sophister, 

With cheerful hope thus he accosted her. 

"Fair creature, let me speak without offense: 

I would my rude words had the influence 

To lead thy thoughts as thy fair looks do mine ! 

Then shouldst thou be his prisoner, who is thine. 

Be not unkind and fair; mis-shapen stuff' 

Are of behavior boisterous and rough. 

Oh, sbun me not, but hear me ere you go! 

God knows, I can not force love as you do : 

M}^ words shall be as spotless as my youth, 

Full of simplicity and naked truth. 

This sacrifice, whose sweet perfume descending 

From Venus' altar, to your footsteps bending, 

Doth testify that you exceed her far, 

To whom you offer, and whose nun you are. 

Why should you w^orsbip her? Her you surpass 

As much as sparkling diamonds flaring glass. 

A diamond set in lead his worth retains ; 

A heavenly nymph, beloved of human swains. 

Receives no blemish, but ofttimes more grace ; 

Which makes me hope, although I am but base 

Base in respect of thee divine and pure, 

Dutiful service may thy love procure ; 



HERO AND LEANBER. ^^j 

And I in duty will excel all other, 

As thou in beantv dost exceed Love's mother. 

Nor heaven nor thou were made to gaze upon: 

As heaven preserves all things, so save thou one. 

A stately-bnilded ship, well-rigged and tall, 

Tlie ocean maketh more majestical: 

Why vowest thou, then, to live in Sestos here, 

Who on Love's seas more glorious wouldst aj^pear? 

Lilre untuned golden strings all women are, 

Which long time lie untouched, will harshly jar. 

Vessels of brass, oft handled, brightly shine: 

What difference betwixt the richest mine 

And basest mold, but use? for both, not used, 

Are of like worth. Then treasure is abused, 

Wlien misers keep it: being put to loan. 

In time it will return us two for one. 

Rich robes themselves and others do adorn ; 

Neither themselves nor others, if not worn. 

Who builds a palace, and rams up the gate, 

Shall see it ruinous and desolate: 

Ah, simple Hei'o, learn thyself to cherish ! 

Lone women, like to empty houses, perish. 

Less sins the poor rich man, that starves himself 

In heaping up a mass of drossy pelf. 

Than sucli as you: his golden earth remains, 

Waich. after his decease, some other gains; 

But this fair gem, sweet in the loss alone. 

When you fleet hence, can be bequeathed to none; 

Or. if it could, down from tli' enameled sky 

All heaven would come to claim this legacy. 

And with intestine broils the world destroy. 

And quite confound Nature's sweet harmony. 

Well therefore by the gods decreed it is, 

We human creatures should enjoy that bliss. 

One is no number: maids are nothing, then, 

Without the sweet society of men. 

Wilt thou live single still? One shalt thou be, 

Though nover-singliiig Hymen couple thee. 

Wild savages, that drink of running springs. 

Think water far excels all earthly things : 



142 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

But they that daily taste neat wine, desjDise it: 

Virginity, albeit some highly prize it, 

Compared with marriage, had you tried them both, 

Differs as much as wine and water doth. 

Base bullion for the stamp's sake we allow: 

Even so for men's impression do we you; 

By which alone, our reverend fathers say, 

Women receive perfection every way. 

This idol, which you term virginity. 

Is neither essence subject to the eye. 

No, nor to any one exterior sense, 

Nor hath it any place of residence, 

Nor is 't of earth or mold celestial, 

Or capable of any form at all. 

Of that which hath no being, do not boast: 

Things that are not at all, are never lost. 

Men foolishly do call it virtuous: 

Wlrit virtue is it, that is born with us? 

Much less can honor be ascribed thereto: 

Honor is purchased by the deeds we do ; 

Believe me, Hero, honor is not won, 

Until some honorable deed be done. 

Siek you, for chastity, immortal fame, 

And know that some have wronged Diana's name? 

Whose name is it if she be false or not, 

So she be fair, but some vile tongues will blot? 

But you are fair, ah me ! so wondrous fair, 

So young, so g'entle, and so debonair. 

As Greece will think, if thus you live alone. 

Some one or other keeps you as his own. 

Then, Hero, hate me not, nor from me fly. 

To follow swiftly-blasting infamy. 

Perhaps thy sacred j^riesthood make thee loath : 

Tell me, to whom mad'st thou that heedless oath? " 

"To Venus," answered she; and, as she spake. 

Forth from those two tralucent cisterns brake 

A stream of liquid pearl, which down her face 

Made milk-white paths, whereon the gods might tract? 

To Jove's high court. He thus replied: "The rites 

In which love's beauteous empress most deiights, 



IIEIIO AND LEANUEli. 143 

Are banquets, Doric music, miduiglit revel, 

Plays, masques, and all that stern age counteth evil 

Thee as a lioly idiot doth she scorn ; 

For thou, in vowing chastity, hast sworn 

To rol) her name and honor, and thereby 

Oommittest a sin far worse than perjury-, 

Even sacrilege against her deity. 

Through regular and formal purity. 

To expiate which sin, kiss and shake hands: 

Such sacrifice as this Yenus demands." 

Thereat she smiled, and did deny him so. 

As put thereby, yet might he hope for mo; 

Wliich makes him quickly re-enforce his speech, 

And her in humble manner thus beseech: 

"Though neither gods nor men may thee deserve, 

Yet, for her sake, whom you have vowed to serve, 

Abandon fraitless cold virginity, 

The gentle Queen of love's sole enemy. 

Then shall you most resemble Yenus' nun, 

When Yenus' sweet rites are performed and done. 

Flint-breasted Pallas joys in single life; 

But Pallas and your mistress are at strife. 

Love, Hero, then, and be not tyi*annous ; 

But heal the heart that thou hast wounded thus, 

Nor stain thy youthful years with avarice : 

Fair fools delight to be accounted nice. 

The richest corn dies, if it be not reapt; 

Beauty alone is lost, too warily kept." 

These arguments he used, and many more; 

Wherewith she yielded, that was won before. 

Hero's looks yielded, but her words made war: 

Women are won when they begin to .jar. 

Thus, having swallowed Cupid's golden hook. 

The more she strived, the deeper was she strook: 

Yet, idly feigning anger, strove she still, 

And would be thought to grant against her wiih 

So having paused a while, at last she said, 

"Who taught thee rhetoric to deceive a maid? 

Ah me, such v^'ords as these should I abhor, 

And yet I like them for the orator." 



144 cnntsropiiER marlowe. 

With t'lit, L Bander stoop j J to have embraced her, 

But from his sprsa liti;^- arms awiy she cast her, 

And thus bispake him: '-Gjiitls youth, forbear 

T:) tou3h the sacreJ <^arm3iits which I ^Year. 

Upon a rock, ami underneath a hill, 

Far frjm the town, (where all is whist and stilL 

Save tint the sea, playing on yellow sand, 

S3nds forth a rattling murmur to the lanl, 

Whos3 sound allures the golden Morpheus 

In silence of the night to visit us ) 

M { turret stands ; and there, God knows, I play 

With Yanus' swans and sj^arrows all the da3^ 

A dwarfish beldam bears me company. 

That hops about the chamber where I lie, 

And sp3nds the night, that might be better spent, 

In vain disc3urse and apish merriment: — 

Com3 thither." As she spake this, her tongue tripped, 

For nniwares, "Coms thither,' from her slipped; 

And suldenly her former color changed, 

An.l here and there her eyes through anger ranged; 

And, like a planet moving several ways 

At one self instint, she, poor soul, assays, 

Loving, not to love at all, and every part 

Strove to resist the motions of her heart: 

And hands so pure, so innocent, nay, such 

As might liave made Heaven stoop to have a touch, 

Did she uphold to Venus, and again 

Yowed spotless chastity; but all in vain; 

Cupi.l beats down her prayers* with his wings; 

Her vows above the empty air he flings : 

All deep enraged, his sinev/y bow he bent, 

And shot a shaft that burning from him went ; 

Wherewith she strooken, looked so dolefully, 

As made Love sigh to see his tyranny ; 

And, as she wept, her tears to pearl he turned, 

And wound them on his arm, and for her mourned. 

Then toward the palace of the Destinies, 

Laden with liinguishment and grief, he flies, 

* Prayer is always a dissyllable in old English. 



HERO AND LEANDER. 145 

And to tliosG stern nymplis humbly made request,' 
Both might enjoy each other, and be blest. 
Eut with a ghastly dreadful countenance, 
Threatening a thousand deaths at every glance, 
They ans\Yered Love, nor would vouchsafe so much 
As one poor word, their hate to him was such : 
Hearken a while, and I will tell you why. 

Heaven's winged herald, Jove-born Merciiry, 
The selfsame day that he asleej^ had laid 
Enchanted Argus, spied a country maid, 
"Wliose careless hair, instead of pearl t' adorn it, 
Glistered with dew. as one that seemed to scorn it, 
Her breath as fragrant as the morning rose ; 
Her mind pure, and her tongue untaught to glose: 
Yet 2^roud she was (for lofty Pride that dwells 
In towered courts, is oft in shepherds' cells), 
And too, too well the fail' vermilion knew 
And silver tincture of her cheeks, that drew 
The love of every swain. On her this god 
Enamored was, and w4th his snaky rod 
Did charm her nimble feet, and made her stay, 
The while upon a hillock down he lay, 
And svv^eetly on his pipe began to play. 
And with smooth speech her fancy to assay, 
Till in his twining arms he locked her fast. 
And then he wooed with kisses ; and at last, 
As shepherds do, her on the ground he laid. 
And, tumbliDg in the grass, he often strayed 
Beyond the bounds of shame, in being bold 
To eye those parts which no eye should behold; 
x4.nd, like an insolent commanding lover. 
Boasting his parentage, would needs discover 
The way to new Elysium. But she. 
Whose only dower was her chastity. 
Having striven in vain, was now about to cry. 
And crave the help of shei:iherds that were nigh. 
Herewith he stayed his fury, and began 
To give her leave to rise : away she ran ; 
After went Mercury, who used such cunning. 
As she, to hear his tale, left off her running j 



146 CilRlSTOrnER MAniOWE. 

(Maids are not won by brutish force and might, 

But speeches full of pleasure and delight;) 

And, knowing- Hermes courted her, was glad 

That she such loveliness and beauty had 

As could provoke Lis liking; yet was mute, 

And neither would deny nor grant his suit. 

Still vowed he love: she, wanting no excuse 

To feed him with delays, as women use, 

Or thirsting after immortality, 

(All women are ambitious naturally), 

Imposed upon her lover such a tisk. 

As he ought not perform, nor j(^i she ask; 

A draught of flowing nectar she requested. 

Wherewith the king of gods and men is feasted. 

He, ready to accomplish whit she v/illed, 

Stole some from Hebe (Hebe Jove's cup fdled). 

And gave it to his simple rustic love: 

Which being known — as what is hid from Jove? — 

He inly stormed, and waxed more furious 

Than for the fire filch 2d by Prometheus; [here, 

And tlirusts him dov/n from heaven. He, wanderinsj 

In mournful terms, with sad and heavy cheer, 

Complained to Cupid: Cupid, for his sake, 

To be revenged on Jove did undertake ; 

And those on whom heaven, earth, and hell relies, 

I mean the adamantine Destinies, 

He wounds with love, and forced them equally 

To dote upon deceitful Mercury. 

They offered him the deadly fatal knife 

That shears the slender threads of human life; 

At his fair-feathered feet the engines laid. 

Which til' earth from ugly Chaos' den upweighed. 

These he regarded not; but did entreat 

That Jove, usurper of his father's seat. 

Might presently be banished into hell, 

And aged Saturn in Olympus dwell. 

They granted what he craved; and once again 

Saturn and Ops began their golden reign: 

Murder, rape, war, and lust, and treachery. 

Where with Jove closed in Stygian empery, 



HERO AND LEANDER. 147 

But long this blessed time continued not: 

As soon as he his wished purpose got, 

He, reckless of his promise, did despise 

The love of th' everlasting Destinies. 

They, seeing it, both Love and him abhorred. 

And Jupiter unto his place restored. 

And, but that Learning, in despite of Fate, 

Will mount aloft, and enter heaven's gate, 

And to the seat of Jove itself advance, 

Hermes had slept in hell with Ignorance. 

Yet, as a punishment, they added this, 

That he and Poverty should always kiss: 

And to this day is every scholar poor: 

Gross gold from them runs headlong to the boor. 

Likewise the angry Sisters, thus deluded. 

To 'venge themselves on Hermes, have concluded 

That Midas' brood shall sit in Honor's chair, 

To which the Muses' sons are only heir; 

And fruitful wits, that unaspiring are, 

Shall, discontent, run into regions far ; 

And few great lords in virtuous deeds shall joy. 

But be surprised with every garish toy. 

And still enrich the lofty servile clown. 

Who with encroaching guile keeps learning down 

Then muse not Cupid's suit no better sped, 

Seeing in their loves the Fates were injured. 



THE SECOND SESTIAD. 



THE ARGUMENT OF THE SECOND SESTIAD. 

Hero of love takes deeper sense, 
And dotli liev love more recompense; 
Their first nijiht's meetintr. where sweet kisses 
Are th' only ciowiis of both their blisses, 
He swims to Abydos. ;uid leturns: 
Cold Xeptune with his Ixanty burns; 
Whose suit he shnii-^. .'uid doth aspire 
Hero's fair tower and his desire. 

By this, sad Hero, with love unacquainted. 
Viewing Leander's face, fell down and fainted. 
He kissed her, and breathed life into her lips ; 
"Wherewith, as one displeased, away she trips ; 



14S CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

Yes, as she went, full often looked behind, 

An 1 many poor excuses did she find 

To linger bj the way, and once she stayed, 

And would have turned again, but was afraid. 

In offering parley, to be counted light : 

S ) on she goes, and, in her idle flight. 

Her painted fan of curled plumes let fall, 

Thinkino: to train Leander therewithal. 

He, being a novice, knew not what she meant, 

But stayed, and after her a letter sent; 

"Which joyful Hero answered in such sort. 

As he had hope to scale the beauteous fort 

Wiierein the liberal Graces locked their wealth; 

And therefore to her tower he got by stealth. 

Wide-open stood the door; he need not climb: 

And she herself, before the 'pointed time, 

Had spread the board, with roses strowed the room, 

And oft looked out, and mused he did not come. 

At last he came : oh, who can tell the greeting 

These greedy lovers had at their first meeting? 

He asked ; she gave ; and nothing was denied ; 

Both to each other quickly were affied: 

Look how their hands, so were their hearts united, 

And what he did, she willingly requited. 

(Sweet are the kisses, the" embracements sweet. 

When like desires and like affections meet ; 

For from the earth to heaven is Cupid raised. 

Where fancy is in equil balance paised;) 

Yet she this rashness suddenly repented. 

And turned aside, and to herself lamented. 

As if her name and honor had been wronged 

By being possessed of him for whom she longed ; 

Ay, and she Avished, albeit not from her heart, 

Tiiat he would leave her turret and depart. 

The mirthful god of amorous pleasure smiled 

To see how he this captive nymph beguiled: 

For liitherto he did but fan the fire, 

And kept it down, that it might mount the higher. 

Now waxed she jealous, lest his love abated, 

Fearing, her own thoughts made her to be hated, 



HERO AND LEANDEIt. 149 

Therefore unto him hastily she goes, 

And, like light Salmacis, her body throws 

Upon his bosom, Avhere with yielding eyes 

She offers up herself a sacrifice 

To slake his anger, if he were displeased : 

Oh, what god would not therewith be appeased *? 

Like ^soi:)'s cock, this jewel he enjoyed, 

And as a brother Yvith his sister toyed. 

Supposing nothing else was to be done. 

Now he her favor and good will had won. 

But know you not that creatures wanting sense, 

By nature have a mutual appetence. 

And, wanting organs to advance a step, 

Moved by love's force, unto each other leap? 

Much more in subjects having intellect 

Some hidden influence breeds like effect. 

Albeit Leander, rude in love and raw, 

Long dallying with Hero, nothing saw 

That might delight him more, yet he suspected 

Some amorous rites or other were neglected. 

Therefore unto his body hers he clung: 

She, fearing on the rushes to be flung. 

Strived with redoubled strength ; the more she strived. 

The more a gentle pleasing heat revived. 

Which taught him all that elder lovers know: 

And now the same 'gan so to scorch and glow, 

As in plain terms, yet cunningly, he craved it: 

Love always makes those eloquent that have it. 

She, with a kind of granting, put him by it. ^ 

And ever, as he thought himself most nigh it, 

Like to the tree of Tantalus, she fled, 

And, seeming lavish, saved her maidenhead. 

Ne'er king more sought to keep his diadem, 

Than Hero this inestimable gem: 

Above our life we love a steadfast friend ; 

Yet when a token of great worth we send. 

We often kiss it, often look thereon. 

And stay the messenger that would be gone ; 

No marvel, then, though Hero would not yield 

So soon to part from that she dearly held : 



150 CHlilSTOPHEB MARLOWE. 

Jewels being lost are found again; this never; 
'Tis lost but once, and once lost, lost forever. 

Now bad the Morn espied her lover's steeds ; 
Whereat she starts, puts on her purple weeds, 
And, red for auger that he stayed so long, 
All headlong throws herself the clouds among, 
And now Leander, fearing to be missed, 
Esnbraced her suddenly, took leave, and kissed: 
L^ng v/as he taking leave, and loth to go, 
Anl kissed again, as lovers use to do. 
S id Hero wrung him by the hand, and wept, 
Saying, "Let your vows and promises be kept:" 
Tlien standing at the door, she turned about. 
As loth to see Leander going out. 
And now the sun, that through th' horizon peeps, 
As pitying these lovers, downward creeps ; 
So that in silence of the cloudy night, 
Though it was morning, did he take his flight. 
Bat what the secret trusty night concealed, 
Laan ler's amorous habit soon revealed: 
With Cupid's myrtle was his bonnet crowned, 
About his arms the purple ribbon wound. 
Wherewith she wreathed her largely-spreading hair; 
N )V could the youth abstain, but he must wear 
Th3 sacred ring wherewith she was endowed, 
AVhen first religious chastity she vowed; 
Which made his love through Sestos to be known. 
And thence' unto Abydos sooner blown 
Than he could sail; for incorj^oreal Fame, 
Whose weight consists in nothing but her name. 
Is swifter than the wind, whose tardy plumes 
Aro reeking watsr and dull earthly fumes. 

H ^me when he came, he seemed not to be there, 
B iL, like exiled air thrust from his sj^here, 
Sjt in a foreign place; and straight from thence, 
Alcides-like, by mighty violence, 
H3 would have chased away the swelling main, 
That him from her unjustly did detain. 
Like as the sun in a diameter 
Fires and inflames objects removed far, 



HE no AND LKANDKll. \rA 

And lieateth kindly, shining laterally ; 

So beauty sweetly quickens when 'tis nigh, 

But being separated and removed, 

Burns where it cherished, murders where it loved. 

Therefore even as an index to a book. 

So to his mind was young Leander's look. 

Oh, none but gods have power their love to hiael 

Affection by the countenance is descried ; 

The light of hidden fire itself discovers, 

And love that is concealed betrays poor lovers. 

His secret flame apparently- was seen: 

Leander's father knew where he had been, 

And for the same mildly rebuked his son, 

Thinking to quench the sparkles new-begun. 

But love resisted once, grows passionate. 

And nothing more than counsel lovers hate; 

For as a hot jDroud horse highly disdains 

To have his head controlled, but breaks the reins, 

Spits forth the riugled bit, and with his hoves 

Checks the submissive ground; so he that loves, 

The more he is restrained, the worse he fares: 

What is it now but mad Leander dares? 

"Oh, Hero, Hero!" thus he cried full oft; 

And then he got him to a rock aloft, 

'Where having spied her tower, long stared he on't. 

And prayed the narrow toiling Hellespont 

To part in twain, that he might come and go ; 

But still the rising billows answered, "No." 

"With that, he stripj^ed him to the ivory skin. 

And, crying, "Love, I come," leaped lively in: 

Where«;t the sapphire-visaged god grew proud, 

And made his capering Triton sound aloud, 

Imagining that Ganymed, displeased, 

Had left the heavens ; therefore on him he seized. 

Leander strived ; the waves about him wound. 

And pulled him to the bottom, where the ground 

Was strewed with pearl, and in low coral groves 

Sweet-singing mermaids sported with their loves 

On heaps of heavy gold, and took great pleasure 

To spui'n in careless sort the shipwTack treasui'ej 



152 cnniSTOPHEn maulowe. 

For here the sfcitaly azure palace stood, 

Whsre kingly Njptuiie and his train abode. 

Tha lusty god embraced him, called him "love," 

An 1 swore he never should return to Jove: 

Bat when he knew it was not Ganymed, 

For under water he was almost dead, 

Ha he ived him up, and, looking on his face. 

Beat djwn the bold waves with his triple mace. 

Which mounted up, intending to have kissed him. 

And fell in drops like tears because they missed him. 

Leander, being up, begin to swim, 

And, looking back, saw Neptune follow him: 

Whereat aghast, the poor soul 'gan to cry, 

'• Oh, let me visit Hero ere I die ! " 

The god put Helle's bracelet on his arm, 

And swore the sea should never do him harm. 

He clapped his plump cheeks, with his tresses played. 

An 1, smiling wantjnly, his love bewrayed; 

He watched his arms, and, as they opened wide 

At every stroke, betwixt them would he slide, 

And steal a kiss, and then run out and dance, 

And, as he turned, cast many a lustful glance, 

And throw him gaudy toys to please his eye. 

And dive into the water, and there pry 

UjDon his breast, his thighs, and every limb. 

And up again, and close beside him swim, 

And talk of love. Leander made rej^ly, 

"You are deceived; I am no woman, I." 

Thereat smiled Neptune, and then told a tale, 

How that a shepherd, sitting in a vale. 

Played with a boy so lovely fair and kind, 

As for his love both earth and heaven pined ; 

That of the cooling river durst not drink. 

Lest water-nymphs should pull him from the brink ; 

And when he sported in the fragrant lawns. 

Goat-footed Satyrs and up-staring Fauns 

Would steal him thence. Ere half this tale was done, 

"Ah, me," Leander cried, "th' enamored sun, 

That now should shine on Thetis' glassy bower, 

Descends upon my radiant Hero's tower: 



HERO AND LEANDER. 153 

Oh, that these tardy arms of mine were wings!" 

And. PS lie spal:e. upon the waves he springs. 

Njplune was angry that he ga^e no ear, 

And in liis heart revenging malice bare: 

He flung at him his mace; but, as it went, 

He called it in, for love made him repent: 

The mace, returning back, his own hand hit. 

As meaning to be 'venged for darting it. 

When this fresh-bleeding wound Leander viewed. 

His color went and came, as if he rued 

The grief which Neptune felt: in gentle breasts 

Eelenting thoughts, remorse end pity rests; 

And who have hard hearts and obdurate minds, 

But vicious, hare-brained, and illiterate hinds'? 

The god, seeing him with pity to be moved, 

Thereon concluded that he v,-as beloved; 

(Love is too full of faith, too credulous, 

With folly and false hope deluding us;) 

Wherefore, Leander's fancy to surprise, 

To the rich ocean for gifts he flies: 

'Tis wisdom to give much ; a gift prevails 

When deep-persuading oratory fails. 

By this, Leander, being near the land. 
Cast down his weary feet, and felt the sand. 
Breathless albeit he were, he rested not 
Till to the solitary tower he got ; 
And knocked, and called: at which celestial noise 
The longing heart of Hero much more joys, 
Than nymphs and shepherds when the timbrel rings, 
Or crooked dolphin when the sailor sings. 
She stayed not for her robes, but straight arose. 
And. drunk with gladness, to the door she goes; 
Where seeing a naked man, she screeched for fear, 
(Such sights as this to tender maids are rare,) 
And ran into the dark herself to hide: 
(Rich jewels in the dark are soonest sj^ied:) 
Unto her was he led, or rather drawn. 
By those white limbs which sparkled through the lawn 
The nearer that he came, the more she fled. 
And, seeking refuge, slipt into her bed ; 



154 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

Whereon Leander sitting, thus began, 
Through numbing cold, all feeble, faint, and wan. 
''If not for love, yet, love, for pity-sake, 
Ma in thy bed and maiden bosom take ; 
At least vouchsafe these arms some little room. 
Who, hoping to embrace thee, cheerly swoom: 
This head was beat with many a churlish billow, 
And therefore let it rest upon thy pillow." 
Herewith affrighted. Hero shrunk away. 
And in her lukewarm place Le mder lay; 
Whose lively heat, like fire from heaven fet, 
Wjuld animate gross clay, and higher set 
The drooping thoughts of base-declining souls, 
Than dreary-Mars-carousing nectar bowls. 
His hands he cast u]oon her like a snare : 
S^e, overcome with shame and sallow fear. 
Like chaste Diana when Actseon spied her. 
Being suddenly betrayed, dived down to hide herj 
And, as her silver body downward went, 
With both her hands she made the bed a tent, 
An 1 in her own mind thought herself secure, 
O'ercast with dim and darksome coverture. 
And now she lets him whisper in her ear, 
Flatter, entreat, promise, protest, and swear: 
Yet ever, as he greedily assayed 
To touch those dainties, she the harpy played, 
And every limb did, as a soldier stout. 
Defend the fort, and keep the foeman out; 
Fjr though the rising ivory mount he scaled, 
Which is with azure circling lines empaled. 
Much like a globe (a globe may I term this. 
By which Love sails to regions full of bliss?) 
Yet there with Sisyphus he toiled in vain, 
Till gentle parley did the truce obtain. 
Even as a bird, which in our hands we wring, 
Forth plungeth, and oft flutters with her wing. 
She trembling strove; this siiiriie of hers, like that 
Which made the world, another world begat 
Of unknown jo3^ Treison was in her thought, 
And cunningly to yield herself she sought. 



HERO AND LBANDER. 15;'^ 

Seeming- not won, j'et won slie was fit length: 

In such wars women use but half their strength. 

Leander now, like Theban Hercules, 

Entered the orchard of th' Hes2:)erides ; 

Whose fruit none rightly can describe, but he 

That 2)ulls or shakes it from the golden tree. 

Wherein Leander on her quivering breast, 

Breathless spoke something, and sighed out the rest; 

Which so prevailed, as he, with small ado, 

Inclosed her in his arms, and kissed her too ; 

And every kiss to her was as a charm, 

And to Leander as a fresh alarm : 

So that the truce was broke, and she, alas, 

Poor silly maiden, at his mercy was ! 

Love is not full of pity, as men say. 

But deaf and cruel where he means to prey. 

And now she wished this night were never done, 
And sighed to think upon th' approaching sun ; 
For much it grieved her that the bright daylight 
Should know the pleasure of this blessed night, 
And them, like Mars and Erycine, display 
Both in each other's arms chained as they lay. 
Again, she knew not how to frame her look, 
Or speak to him, who in a moment took 
That which so long, so charily she kept; 
And f'^m by stealth away she would have crept, 
And to some corner secretly have gone. 
Leaving Leander in the bed alone. 
But as her naked feet were whipping out. 
He on the sudden dinged her so about, 
That, mermaid-like, unto the floor she slid ; 
One half appeared, the other half was hid. 
Thus near the bed she blushing stood upright, 
And from her countenance behold j^e might 
A kind of twilight break, which through the air, 
As from an orient cloud, glimpsed here and there ; 
And round about the chamber this false morn 
Brought forth the day before the day was born. 
So Hero's ruddy cheek Hero betrayed. 
And her all naked to his sight displayed: 



156 CHRISTOPnER MARLOWE. 

Whence liis admiring eyes more pleasure took 
Than Dis, on heaps of gold fixing his look. 
By this, Apollo's golden harp began 
To s^und forth music to the ocean; 
"Which watchful Hesperus no sooner heard, 
Bat he the bright Day-bearing car prepared, 
And ran before, as harbinger of light, 
And Nvith his flaring beams mocked ugly Night, 
Till she, o'ercome with anguish, shame, and rage, 
Dausfed down to hell her loathsome carriaofe. 



THE THIRD SESTIAD.* 

THE APvGUMEXT OF THE THIRD SESTIAD. 

Leamler to tlie envious light 

Kesigiis bis iiight-si)oit.s with the night, 

And swims the Hellespont again. 

Thesnie, the deity sovereign 

Of customs and religions rites, 

Appears, reproving his delights. 

Since nuptial honois he neglected ; 

Which straight he vows shall be effected. 

Fair Hero, left devirginate, 

Weighs, and with fury w^ails her state ; 

But with her love and woman's wit 

She argues and approveth it. 

New light gives new directions, fortunes new, 
To fashion our endeavors that ensue. 
More harsh, at least more hard, more grave and high 
Our subjects runs, and our stern Muse must fly. 
Love's edge is taken off, and that light flame, 
Those thoughts, joys, longings, that before became 
High unexperienced blood, and maids' sharp plights 
Must now grow staid, and censure the delights. 
That, being enjoyed, ask judgment; now we praise, 
As having parted : evenings crown the days. 

And now, ye wanton Loves, and young Desires, 
Pied Vanity, the mint of strange attires, 
Ye lisping Flatteries, and obsequious Glances, 
Relentful Musics, and attractive Dances, 
And you detested Charms constraining love! 
Shun love's stolen sports by that these lovers prove. 

* The continuation by Cliapman commences here. 



HE no AXD LEANBER. 157 

By this, the sovereign of heaven's golden fires, 
And young Leander, lord of his desires, 
Toq-ether from their lovers' arms arose: 
Leander into Hellespontus throws 
His Hero-handied bod}', Avhose delight 
Made him disdain each other epithite.* 
And as amidst th' enamored waves he swims, 
The god cf gold of purpose gilt his limbs, 
That, this word gi-t including double sense, 
The double guilt of his incontinence 
Might be expressed, that had no stay t' employ 
The treasure which the love-god let him joy 
In his dear Hero, with such sacred thrift 
As had beseemed so sanctified a gift ; 
But, like a greedy vulgar prodigal, 
Would on the stock dispend, and rudely fall, 
Before his time, to that unblessed blessing, 
"Which, for lust's plague, doth perish with possessing. 
Joy graven in sense, like sncw in water, wastes ; 
Without preserve of virtue, nothing lasts. 
What man is he, that with a wealthy eye 
Enjoys a beauty richer than the sky, 
Through whose white skin, softer than soundest sleep, 
With damask eyes tlie ruby blood doth peep. 
And runs in branches through her azure veins. 
Whose mixture and first fire his love attains; 
Wliose both hands limit both love's deities, 
And sweeten human thoughts like Paradise ; 
Whose disioosition silken is and kind. 
Directed with an earth -exempted mind; — 
Who thinks not heaven with such a love is given? 
And who, like earth, would spend that dower of heaven. 
With rank desire to joy it all at first? 
AVhat simply kills our liunger. quencheth thirst, 
Clothes but our nakedness, and mokes us live, 
Praise doth not any of her favors give: 
But what doth plentifully minister 
Beauteous apparel and delicious cheer, 

* Epilliite seems to uieau clothing or covering. 



158 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.' 

So ordered tbut it still excites desire, 
And still gives pleasure freeness to aspire, 
The palm of Bounty ever moist preserving ; 
To Love's sweet life this is the courtly carving. 
Thus Time and all-states-ordering Ceremony 
Had banished all offense: Time's golden thigh 
Upholds the flowery body of the earth 
In sacred harmony, and every birth 
Of men and actions makes legitimate; 
Being used aright, the use of time is fate. 

Yet did the gentle flood transfer once more 
This prize of love home to his father's shore ; 
Where he unlades himself of that false wealth 
That makes few rich, — treasures composed by stealth; 
And to his sister, kind Hermione, 
(Who on the shore kneeled, praying to the sea 
For his return), he all love's goods did show, 
In Hero seized for him, in him for Hero. 

His most kind sister all his secrets knew, 
And to her, singing, like a shower, he flew. 
Sprinkling the earth, that to their tombs took in 
Streams dead for love, to lave his ivory skin, 
Which yet a snowy foam did leave above, 
As soul to the dead water that did love ; 
And from thence did the first white roses spring 
(For love is sweet and fair in every thing). 
And all the sweetened shore, as he did go, 
Was crowned with odorous roses, white as snow. 
Love-blest Leander was with love so filled, 
That love to all that touched him he instilled ; 
And as the colors of all things we see, 
To our sight's powers communicated be, 
So to all objects that in compass came 
Of any sense he had, his senses' flame 
Flowed from his parts with force so virtual, 
It fired with sense things mere insensual. 

Now, with warm baths and odors comforted, 
When he lay down, he kindly kissed his bed. 
As consecrating it to Hero's right. 
And vowed thereafter, that whatever sight 



HERO AND LEANDEU. 159 

Put liim in mind of Hero or her bliss, 
Sbould be her altar to prefer a kiss. 

Then laid he forth his late-enriched arms, 
In whose Avhite circle Love writ all his charms, 
And made his characters sweet Hero's limbs, 
When on his breast's warm sea she sideling swims : 
And as those arms, held up in circle, met, 
He said, "See, sister. Hero's carcanet! 
Which she had rather wear about her neck, 
Than all the jewels that do Juno deck." 

But, as he shook with passionate desire 
To put in flame his other secret fire, 
A music so divine did pierce his ear. 
As never yet his ravished ser.se did hear; 
When suddenly a light of twenty hues 
Brake through the roof, and, like the riiinbow, views 
Amazed Leander: in whose beams came down 
The goddess Ceremony, with a crown 
Of all the stars; and Heaven with her descended: 
Her flaming hair to her bright feet extended. 
By which hung all the bench of deities ; 
And in a chain, compact of ears and ej^es, 
She led Religion : all her body was 
Clear and transparent as the purest glass, 
For she was all presented to the sense : 
Devotion, Order, State, and Reverence, 
Her shadows were ; Society, Memory ; 
All which her sight made live, her absence die. 
A rich disparent pentacle she wears, 
Drawn full of circles and strange characters. 
Her face was changeable to every eye ; 
One way looked ill, another graciously ; 
Which while men viewed, they cheerful were and holy^ 
But looking off, vicious and melancholy. 
The snaky paths to each observed law 
Did Policy in her broad bosom draw. 
One hand a ma thematic crystal sways. 
Which, gathering in one line a thousand rays 
From her bright eyes. Confusion burns to death. 
And all estates of men distinguisheth ; 



IGO CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

By it Morality and Comeliness 
Themselves in all their sightly figures dress. 
Her other hand a laurel rod applies, 
To beat back Barbarism and Avarice, 
That followed, eatiug eirtli and excrement 
And human limbs; and would make proud ascent 
To seats of gods, were Ceremony slain. 
The Hours and Graces bore her glorious train ; 
Anl all the sweets of our society 
Were sphered and treasured in her bounteous eye. 
Thus she appaared, and sharj^ly did reprove 
Leander s bluntness in his violent love; 
Told him how poor was substance without rites. 
Like bills unsigned; desires vathout delights; 
Like meats unseis^ned; like rank corn that grows 
On cottages, that none or reaps or sows; 
Not being with civil forms confirmed and bounded, 
For human dignities and comforts founded ; 
But loose and secret all their glories hide; 
Fear fills the chamber. Darkness decks the bride. 
She vanished, leaving pierced Leander's heart 
With sense of his unceremonious part, 
In which, with pliin neglect of nuptial rites, 
He c1js3 and flatly fell to his delights; 
And instantly he vowed to celebrate 
All rites pertaining to his married state. 
S 3 up he gets, and to his father goes, 
To whose glad eirs he doth his vows disclose. 
The nuptials are resolved with utmost power; 
And he at night would swim to Hero's tower, 
From whence he meant to Sestos' forked bay 
To bring her covertly, where ships must stay. 
Sent by his father, throughly rigged and manned. 
To waft her safcl}^ to Abydos' strand. 
There leave we him; and with fresh wing pursue 
Astonished Hero, whose most wished view 
I thus long have forborne, because I left her 
So out of countenance, and her spirits bereft her; 
To look on one abished is impudence. 
When of slight faults he hath too deep a sense. 



HERO AND LEANDEE. 161 

Her blushing bet* ber chamber : she looked out, 
And all the air she purpled round about; 
And after it a foul black day befell, 
Which ever since a red morn doth foretell, 
And still renews our woes for Hero's woe; 
And foul it proved, because it figured so 
The next night's horror; which prepare to hear; 
I fail if it profane your daintitst ear. 

Then, now, most strangely-intellectual fire, 
That, proper to my soul, hast power t'inspire 
Her burning faculties, and with the wings 
Of thy unsphered flame visit'st the S2:)rings 
Of spirits immortal! Now (as swift as time 
Doth follow Motion) find th' eternal clime 
Of his free soul, whose living subject stood 
Up to the chin in the Pierian flcod. 
And drunk to me half this Mussean story, 
Inscribing it to deathless memory: 
Confer with it, and make my pledge as deep, 
That neither's draught be consecrate to sleep ; 
Tell it how much his late desires I tender 
<If yet it know not), and to light surrender 
My soul's dark offspring, walling it should die 
To loves, to passions, and society. 

Sweet Hero, left upon her bed alone. 
Her maidenhead, her vows, Leander gone, 
And nothing with her but a violent crew 
Of newcome thoughts, that yet she never knew, 
Even to herself a stranger, was much like 
Th' Iberian city that War's hand did strike 
By English force in princely Essex' guide. 
When Peace assured her towers had fortified, 
And golden-fingered India had bestowed 
Such wealth on her, that strength and empire flowed 
Into her turrets, and her virgin waist 
The wealthy girdle of the sea embraced ; 
Till our Leander, that made Mars his Cupid, 
For soft love-suits, with iron thunders chid ; 

* Heated, 



162 CniUSTOPHER MARLOWE. 

Swmn to her town, dissolved her virgin zone; 

Led ill his power, and made Confusion 

Eim tbrougii her streets amazed, that she supposed 

She had not bsen iii her own v/ails inclosed, 

But wrapt by w^onder to some foreign state, 

Soeing all her issue so disconsolate. 

And all her pe.icefui mansions possessed 

With war's just spoil, and many a foreign guest 

From every corner driving an en j oyer, 

Supplying it with power of a destroyer. 

So fared fair Hero in th' expunged fort 

Ol her chaste b^sjm; and of every sort 

Strange thoughts possissed her, ransacking her breast 

For that that was not there, her wonted rest. 

She was a mother straight, and bore with pain [slain ; 

Thoughts that spake straight, and v/ished their mother 

She hates their lives, and they their own and hers : 

Such strife still grows wliere sin the race prefers ; 

L^ve is a golden bubble, full of dreams, 

That waking breaks, and fills us with extremes 

She mused how she could look upon her sire, 

And not show that without, that was intire; 

For as a glass is an inanimate eye. 

And outward forms embracoth inwardly, 

So is the eye an animate glass that shows, 

Informs without us; and as Phoebus throws 

His beams abroad, though he in clouds be closed, 

Still glancing by them till he find opposed 

A loose and rorid* vapor that is fit 

T' event his searching beams, and useth it 

To form a tender twenty-colored eye. 

Cist in a circ'e roun;l about the sky; 

So when our fiery soul, our body's star, 

^I'liat ever is in motion circular), 

Ccmceives a form, in seeking to display it 

Thrju^h all our cloudy parts, it doth convey it 

Forth at the eye, as tlie most pregnant pliice, 

And that refiacts it rounl about the face, 

* Pewy; from Lat. ros, roria, dew. 



HERO AND LEAN BE R. 163 

And this event, nncourtly Hero thought, 

Her inward guilt would in her looks have wrought; 

For yet the world's stale cunning she resisted, 

To bear foul thoughts, yet forge what looks she listed. 

And held it for a very sill}' sleight, 

To make a perfect metal counterfeit. 

Glad to disclaim herself, proud of an art 

That makes the face a pander to the heart. 

Those be the painted moons, whose lights profane 

Beauty's true heaven, at full still in their wane ; 

Those be the lapwing faces that still cry, 

"Here 'tis!" when that they vow is nothing nigh: 

Base fools ! when every Moorish fool can teach 

That which men think the hight of human reach. 

But custom, that the apoplexy is 

Of bedrid nature and lives led amiss, 

And takes away all feeling of offense. 

Yet brazed not Hero's brow with impudence ; 

And this she thought most hard to bring to pass, 

To seem in countenance other than she was, 

As if she had two souls, one for the face, 

One for the heart, and that they shifted place 

As either list to utter or conceal 

What they conceived, or as one soul did deal 

With both affairs at once, keeps and ejects 

Both at an instant contrary effects; 

B.etention and rejection in her powers 

Being acts alike ; for this one vice of ours, 

That forms the thought, and sways the countenance, 

Bules both our motion and our utterance. 

These and more grave conceits toiled Heros spirits ^ 
For, though the light of her discoursive wits 
Perhaps might find some little hole to pass 
Through all these worldly cinctures, yet alas! 
There was a heavenly flame encompassed her, — • 
Her goddess, in whose fane she did prefer 
Her virgin vows, from whose impulsive sight 
She knew the black shield of the darkest night 
Could not defend her, nor wit's subtlest art; 
This was the point pierced Hero to the heart ; 



164 CHRISTOPHEM MARLOWE, 

Who, heavy to the death, with a deep sigh, 

And hand that languished, took a robe was nigh, 

Exceeding large, and of black cypres* made, 

In which she sate, hid from the day in shade, 

Even over head and face, down to her feet; 

Har left hand made it at her bosom meet, 

Her right hand leaned on her heart-bowing knee, 

Wrapped in nnshapeful folds, 'twas death to see; 

Her knee stayed that, and that her falling face; 

Each limb helped other to put on disgrace; 

No form was seen, where form held all her sight: 

Bat, like an embr^^on that saw never light 

Or like a scorched statue made a coal 

With three- winged lightning, or a wretched soul 

Muffled with endless darkness, she did sit: 

The night had never such a heavy spirit. 

Yet might a penetrating eye well see 

How fast her clear tears melted on her knee 

Through her black veil, and turned as black as it. 

Mourning: to be her t3:irs. Then wrought her wit 

With her broke vow, her goddess' wrath, her fame: 

All tools that enginousf despair could frame: 

Wiiich made her strow the floor with her torn hair, 

And spread her mantle piece-meal in the air. 

Like Jove's son's club, strong passion strook her down, 

And with a piteous shriek enforced her swoun: 

Her shriek made with another shriek ascend 

The frighted matron that on her did tend ; 

And as with her own cry her sense was slain, 

So with the other it was called again. 

She rose, and to her bed made forced way. 

And laid her down even where Leander lay ; 

* Also cipres and Cyprus — crape. A cyprns hat wa.s a hat covered with 
a crape band. 

" Your partie-per-x)ale picture, one half drawn 
In solemn Cyprus, th' other cohweh lawn." 

Ben Joxson.— ^p. LXXIII.. see p. 267. 
t That is, ingenious. Engin is the old English mode of translating the 
I<atiu ingenium. Thus Chaucer, — 

"Right as a man hath sapiences thre — 
Memorie, engin, and intellect also." 

Secounde Nonne's Tale, 



HERO AND LEANDER. 165 

And all this wliile the red sea of her blood 

Ebbed Avith Leander: but now turned the flood. 

And all her fleets of sj)irits * came swelling in, 

With child of sail,! and did hot fight begin 

With those severe conceits she too much marked: 

And here Leander s beauties were embarked. 

He came in swimming, painted all with joys, 

Such as might sweeten hell: his thought destroys 

All her destroying thoughts ; she thought she felt 

His heart in hers, with her contentions melt. 

And chide her soul that it could so much err, 

To check the true jo^'s he deserved in her. 

Her fresh-heat blood cast figures in her eyes, 

And she supposed she saw in Neptune's skies. 

How her star wandered, washed in smarting brine 

For her love's sake, that with immortal wine 

Should be embathed, and swim in more heart's-ease 

Than there was water in the Sestian seas. 

Then said her Cuj^id-prompted spirit : " Shall I 

Sing moans to such delightscme harmony? 

Shall slick-tongued Fame, patched up with voices rude, 

The drunken bastard of the multitude, 

(Begot when father Judgment is away. 

And, gossip-like, says because others say, 

Takes news as if it were too hot to eat. 

And spits it slavering forth for dog-fees meat,) 

Make me, for forging a fantastic vow. 

Presume to bear what makes grave matrons bow % 

Good vows are never broken with good deeds. 

For then good deeds were bad: vows are but seeds. 

And good deeds fruits ; even those good deeds that 

From other stocks than from th' observed vow. [grow 

* spirit was generally prouounced as a monosyllable — like sprite or sprit. 
It is everywhere so pronounced by Chapman. For examples, see ante, p. 
164, where it is made to rhyme to "sit," and imst, p. 172, where "spirits" 
rliymes with "'wits." 

t When the sails are full of wind they are called "big-bellied." This 
appears to be the meaning here — that the fleet "came swelling in" — and 
not, as ha-s been suggested, "full of sail," that is, with all sails crowded. 



166 CHRIST OP RER MARLOWE. 

That is a good deed that prevents a bad : 

Had I not yielded, slain myself I had. 

Hero Leander is, Leander Hero; 

Such virtue love hath to make one of two. 

If, then, Leander did my maidenhead git, 

Leander being myself, I still retain it: 

We break chaste vows when we live loosely ever, 

But bound as we are; we live loosely never; 

Two constant lovers being joined in one, 

Yielding to one another, yield to none. 

We know not how to vow, till love unblind us, 

And vows made ignorantly never bind us. 

Too true it is, that, vv^hen 'tis gone, men hate 

The joy as vain they took in love's estate: 

But that's since they have lost the heavenly light 

Should show them way to judge of all things right. 

When life is gone, death must implant his terror : 

As death is foe to life, so love to error. 

Before we love, how range we through this s^^here. 

Searching the sundry fancies hunted here ! 

Now with desire of wealth transported quite 

Beyond our free humanity's delight; 

Now with Ambition climbing falling towers, 

Whose hojDe to scale, our fear to fall devours ; 

Now rapt with pastimes, pomp, all joj^s impure: 

In things without us no delight is sure. 

But love, with all joys crowned, within doth sit: 

Oh, goddess,' pity love, and pardon it!" 

Thus spake she weeping : but her goddess' ear 

Burned with too stern a heat, and would not hear. 

Ah me, hath heaven's straight fingers no more graces 

For such as Hero than for homeliest faces? 

Yet she hoped well, and in her sweet conceit 

Weighing her arguments, she thought them weight, 

And that the logic of Leander's beauty. 

And them together, would bring proofs of duty; 

And if lier soul, that was a skillful glance 

Of heaven's great essence, found such imperance* 

* Sovcrci>iiitv, commaud. 



HERO AND LEANDER. 



167 



In lier love's beauties, she bad confidence 

Jove loved him too, and pnrdoned ber offense: 

Beauty in beaven and eartb tbis grace doth win, 

It su})ples rigor, and it lessens sin. 

Tbus, ber sharp wit, ber love, ber secrecy. 

Trooping together, made her wonder why 

She should not leave ber bed, and to the temple; 

Her health said she must live ; her sex, dissemble. 

She viewed Leander's place, and wished be were 

Turned to bis place, so bis place were Leander. 

''Ah me," said she, "that love's sw'eet life and sense 

Should do it harm ! my love had not gone hence, 

Had be been like his place : oh, blessed place, 

Image of constancy! Tbus my love's grace 

Parts nowhere, but it leaves something behind 

Worth observation: he renowns bis kind: 

His motion is, like heaven's, orbicular. 

For wdiere he once is, he is ever there. 

Tbis place was mine ; Leander, now "tis thine ; 

Thou being myself, then it is double mine, 

Mine, and Leander's mine, Leander's mine, 

Ob, see what w^ealtb it yields me, nay, yields him! 

For I am in it, he for me doth swim. 

Rich, fruitful love, that, doubling self estates, 

Elixir-like contracts, though separates ! 

Dear place, I kiss thee, and do welcome thee, 

As from Leander ever sent to me." 




168 CnRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

THE FOURTH SESTIAD. 



THE AEGUMENT OF THE FOUllTH SESTIAD. 

Hero, in sacred habit declvt, 

Dotli private s.iciifice effect. 

Jlei' scarfs de.scriptioii, wroujilit by Fate; 

O.stents that threaten her estate; 

The strange, yet ])hysical, events, 

Leander's counterfeit pi'esents. 

In thunder Cyprides descends, 

Presaging both the h>ver's ends: 

Efte. the goddess of ivniorse, 

With vocal and articulate force 

Inspires Leucote, Venus' swan, 

T' excuse the beauteous Sestian. 

Venus, to wreak her rites' abuses, 

Creates the monster Eronusis, 

Inflaming Hero's sacrifice 

With lightning darted from her eyes; 

And thei-eof sprino;s the painted beast, 

That ever since taints every breast. 

Now from Leander's place she rose, and found 
Her hair and rent robe scattered on the ground ; 
Which taking up, she every piece did lay 
Upon an altar, where in youth of day 
She used t' exhibit private sacrifice : 
Those would she offer to the deities 
Of her fair goddess and her powerful son, 
As relics of her late-felt passion ; 
And in that holy sort she vowed to end them, 
In hope her violent fancies, that did rend them, 
Would as quite fade in her love's holy fire. 
As they should in the flames she meant t' inspire. 
Then put she on all her religious weeds, 
That decked her in her secret sacred deeds ; 
A crown of icicles, that sun nor fire 
Could ever melt, and figured chaste desire ; 
A golden star sinned on her naked breast, 
In honor of the queen-light of the east. 
In her right hand she held a silver wand, 
On whose bright top Peristera did stand, 
Who was a nymph, but now transformed a dove, 
And in her life was dear in Venus' love ; 
And for her sake she ever since that time 
Choosed doves to draw her coach through heaven's 
blue clime. 



Hero and leander. i6d 

Her plenteous liair in curled billows swims 

On her bright shoulder: her harmonious limbs 

Sustained no more but a most subtile veil, 

That hung on them, as it durst not assail 

Their different concord; for the weakest air 

Could raise its swelling from her beauties fair; 

Nor did it cover, but adumbrate only 

Her most heart-piercing parts, that a blest eye 

Might see. as it did shadow, fearfully, 

All that all-loYe-deserying paradise : 

It was as blue as the most freezing skies ; 

Near the sea's hue, for thence her goddess came : 

On it a scarf she wore of wondrous frame ; 

In midst whereof she wrought a virgin's face, 

From whose each cheek a fiery blush did chase 

Two crimson flames, that did two ways extend, 

Spreading the ample scarf t=o either end; 

'Which figured the division of her mind, 

Whiles yet she rested bashfully inclined. 

And stood not resolute to wed Leander; 

This served her white neck for a purple sphere. 

And cast itself at full breadth down her back : 

There, since the first breath that begun the wrack 

Of her free quiet from Leander's lips, 

She wrought a sea, in one flame, full of ships ; 

But that one ship where all her wealth did pass, 

Like simple merchants' goods, Leander was ; 

For in that sea she naked figured him ; 

Her diving needle taught him how to swim. 

And to each thread did such resemblance give, 

For joy to be so like him it did live: 

Things senseless live by art, and rational die 

By rude contempt of art and industry. 

Scarce could she work, but, in her strength of thought, 

She feared she pricked Leander as she wrought, 

And oft would shriek so, that her guardian, frighted, 

Would staring haste, as with some mischief cited : 

They double life that dead things' grief sustain; 

They kill that feel not their friends' living pain. 



170' ciinisToriiEii mahlowe. 

Sometimes she feared ho sjught her infamy, 
And then, as shs was workiiig of his eve, 
She thought to prick it out to quench her ill ; 
But, as she pricked, it grew more perfect still : 
TriHiug attempts no serious acts advance; 
The fire of love is blown by dalliance. 
la working his fair ]ieck she did so grace it, 
She still was working her own arms t' embrace it: 
That, and his shoulders, and his hands were seen 
Above the stream ; and with a pure sea-green 
She did so quaintly shadow ever}^ limb. 
All might be seen beneath the waves to swim. 
In this conceited scarf she wrought beside 
A moon in change, and shooting stars did glide 
In number after her with bloody beams; 
Which figured her affects in their extremes, 
Pursuing Nature in her C3^nthian body, 
And did her thoughts running on change imply; 
For maids take more delight, when they prepare. 
And think of wives' states, than when wives they ure. 
Beneath all these she wrought a fisherman. 
Drawing his nets from forth that ocean ;* 
Who drew so hard, ye might discover well, 
The toughened sinews in his neck did swell : 
His inward strains drave out his bloodshot eyes. 
And springs of sweat did in his forehead rise ; 
Yet was of nought but of a serpent sped, 
That in his bosom flew and stung him dead : 
And this by Fate into her mind was sent. 
Not wrought by mere instinct of her intent. 
At the scarf's other end her hand -did frame, 
Near the forked j^oint of the divided flame, 
A country virgin keeping of a vine, 
Wlio did of hollow bulrushes combine 
Snares for the stubble-loving grasshopper, 
And by her lay her scrip tint nourished her. 
Within a myrtle shade she site and sung; 
And tufts of waving reeds about her sprung, 

* Ocean, as may be -seen in several instances iu this poem, was gewi«rall^ 
pronouuced Ocean, as iu Chaucer. 



HERO AND LEANBER. 171 

Where lurked two foxes, that, while she applied 

Her trifling snares, their thieveries did divide, 

One to the vine, another to her scrip, 

That she did negligently overslip ; 

By which her fruitful vine and wholesome fare 

She suffered spoiled, to make a childish snare. 

These ominous fancies did her soul express, 

And every finger made a prophetess, 

To show what death was hid in love's disguise, 

And make her judgment conquer Destinies. 

Oh, what sweet forms fair ladies' souls do shroud, 

"Were they made seen and forced through their blood; 

If through their beauties, like rich work through lawn, 

They would set forth their minds with virtues drawn, 

In letting graces from their fingers fly. 

To still their eyas* thoughts v.itli industry; 

That their plied wits in numbered silks might sing 

Passion's huge conquest, and their needles leading 

Affection prisoner through their own-built cities. 

Pinioned with stories and Ai'achnean ditties. 

Proceed we now with Hero's sacrifice : 
8he odors burned, and from their smoke did rise 
Unsavory fumes, that air with plagues inspired; 
And then the consecrated sticks she fired. 
On whose pale flame an angry spirit flew, 
And beat it down as it upward grew"; 
The virgin tapers that on th' altar stood, 
When she inflamed them, burned as red as blood; 

* Eyas is a young hawk tb;it lias left the eyerie or nest, but has not yet 
mewed or moulted. It is used here, and by Spenser, in the Hymn oj 
Heavenly Love, as an adjective, and meaiis, not unfledged, as Mr. Dyce 
supposes, but untried, inexperienced: — 

'Ere flitting Time could wag his eyas wings." 

The adjective use of a substantive is common in our language, as •when "we 
sav crocodile tears, meaning sr.ch tears as a crocodile is supposed to shed 
over its prey before devoui i:ig it. Yiv. Dyce suggests that eyas in the text 
may be intended to signify restless; but ihere is no necessity to strain 
the metaphoi-. The poet proposes that ycauig maidens should still, or quiet, 
their thoughts, whicli are eajier \n\([ jiieAncrieilced. lilit WW eyas, by COW- 
jaitting ibem to t?ipbroid.eiy 



172 CHBISTOPHER MAELOWE. 

All sad ostents of that too near success, 

That made such moving beauties motionless, 

Then Hero wept: but her affrighted eyes 

She quickly wrested from the sacrifice : 

Shut them, and inwards for Leander looked, 

Searched her soft bosom, and from thence she plucked 

His lovely picture: which when she had viewed. 

Her beauties were with all love's joj^s renewed; 

The odors sweetened and the fires burned clear, 

Leander's form left no ill object there: 

Such was his beauty that the force of light, 

Whose knowledge teacheth wonders infinite, 

The strength of number and proportion, 

Nature had placed in it to make it known. 

Art was her daughter, and what human wits 

For study lost, entombed in dross}^ spirits. 

After this accident (which for her glory 

Hero could not but make a history), 

Th' inhabitants of Sestos and Abydos 

Did every year, with feasts propitious. 

To fair Leander's picture sacrifice: 

And they were persons of especial price 

That were allowed it, as an ornament 

T' enrich their houses, for the continent 

Of the strange virtues all approved it held ; 

For even the very look of it repelled 

All blastings, witchcrafts, and the strifes of nature 

In those diseases that no herbs could cure: 

The wolfy sting of Avarice it would pull. 

And make the rankest miser bountiful ; 

It killed the fear of thunder and of death ; 

The discords that conceit engendereth 

'Twixt man and wife, it for the time would cease; 

The flames of love it quenched, and would inciease^ 

Held in a prince's hand, it would put out 

The dreadful'st comet; it would ease all doubt 

Of threatened mischiefs ; it would bring asleep 

SiTch as were mad; it would enforce to weep 

Most barbarous eyes ; and many more effects 

This picture wrought, and sprung Leandrean sects ; 



HERO AND LEANDEU. I73 

Of which was Hero first ; for he whose form, 

Held in her hand, cleared such a fatal storm, 

From hell she thought his person would defend her. 

Which night and Hellespont would quickly send her. 

AVith this confirmed, she vowed to banish quite 

All thought of any check to her delight; 

And, in contempt of silly bashfulness, 

She would the faith of her desires profess. 

Where her religion should be policy. 

To follow love with zeal her piety. 

Her chamber her cathedral church should be, 

And her Leander her chief deity; 

For in her love these did the gods forego ; 

And though her knowledge did not teach her so, 

Yet did it teach her this, that what her heart 

Did greatest hold in her self-greatest part, 

That she did make her god ; and 'twas less nought 

To leave gods in profession and in thought. 

Than in her love and life ; for therein lies 

Most of her duties and their dignities ; 

And, rail the brain-bald world at what it will, 

That's the grand atheism that reigns in it still. 

Yet singularity she wculd use no more, 

For she was singular too much before; 

But she would please the world with fair pretext ; 

Love would not leave her conscience perplext ; 

Great men that will have less do for them, still 

Must bear them out, though th' acts be ne'er so ill ; 

Meanness must pander be to Excellence; 

Pleasure atones Falsehood and Conscience: 

Dissembling was the worst, thought Hero then, 

And that was best, now she must live with men. 

Oh, virtuous love, that taught her to do best 

When she did worst, and when she thought it least! 

Thus would she still proceed in works divine, 

And in her sacred state of joriesthood shine. 

Handling the holy rites with hands as bold, 

As if therein she did Jove's thunder hold, 

And need not fear those menaces of error. 

Which 'she at others threw with greatest terror. 



174 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

Oh, lovely Hero, nothing is thy sin, 
Weighed with those foul faults other priests fire in. 
That having neither faiths, nor works, nor beauties, 
T' engender any 'sense for slubbered duties, 
With as much countenance fill their hoh' chairs, 
And sweat denouncements 'gainst profane affairs. 
As if their lives were cut out by their places, 
And they tb.e only fathers of the graces. 

Now, as with settled mind she did repair 
Her thouglits to sacrifice her ravished hair 
And her torn robe, which on the altar lay, 
And only for religion's fire did staj^ 
She heard a thunder by the Cj'clops beaten. 
In such a volley as the world did threaten, 
Given Venus as she parted th' airy sphere. 
Descending now to chide with Hero here: 
When suddenly the goddesr:' ^ /agoners, 
The swans and turtles th^t, i;i coupled pheres,* 
Through all worlds' bosoms draw her influence. 
Lighted in Hero's window, f.nd from thence 
To her fair shoulders flew the gentle doves, — 
Graceful ^ionef that sweet pleasure loves, 
And ruff-foot Chrest.^ with the tufted crown; 
Both which did kiss her, though their goddess frown. 
The swans did in the solid flood, her glass, 
Proin their fair plumes ;§ of which the fairest was 
Jove-loved Leucote.|| that pure brightness is; 
The other bountydoving Dapsilis.^f 
All ware in heaven, now they with Hero were: 
But Venus' looks brought wrath, and urged fear. 

* Feies — mates. 

t JDdoTie is wrong. It ought to be Hedoue, from tlio Greek hcclonc; and 
the second syllable should be short. 

{ Chapman seems to have here confounded the Greeli word chrcstc with 
tlie Lntiu crista, a crest. 

§ Proin is deiived from the French provigncr, and means, proi)eily, to 
cut the superfluous shoots from vines. In its primaiy sense the modern 
word is prune ; but when it is used metaphorically for birds dressing or 
composing their feathers, it is preen. 

II Gr. leiikos, white. 

U Gv dapsiles, abundant. 



EEno AKI) LP.AM)EIl- 175 

Her rv)be was scarlet; black Lor head's attire; 

And tbrougli ber naked breast shined streams cf fire, 

As when the rarefied air is driven 

In flashing; streams, and opes the darkened heaven. 

In her white hand a v> reath of yew she bore ; 

And, breaking th' icy wreath sw^eet Hero wore, 

She forced about her brows her wreath of yew, 

And said, ''-Now, minion, to thy fate be true. 

Though not to me; endure what this portends! 

Begin where Hghtness will, in shame it ends, 

Love makes thee cunning ; thou art current now^, 

By being counterfeit : thy broken vow 

Deceit with her pied garters must rejoin. 

And w^ith her stamp thou countenances must coin ; 

Coyness, and pure deceits, for purities, 

And still a maid wilt seem in cozened ej-es, 

And have an antic face to laugh within, 

"While thy smooth looks make men digest thy sin. 

But since thy lips (least thought forsworn) forswore, 

Be never wgin's vow worth trusting more!" 

When Beauty's dearest did her goddess hear 
Breathe such rebukes 'gainst that she could not clear, 
Dumb sorrow spake aloud in tears and blood, 
That from her grief-burst veins, in piteous flood, 
From the sweet conduits of her favor* fell. 
The gentle turtles did with moans make swell 
Their shining gorges ; the white black-eyed swans 
Did sing as woeful epicedians.f 

As the}' would straightvrays die : when Pity's queen, 
The goddess Ecte,:J: that had ever been 
Hid in a watery cloud near Hero's e^^es, 
Since the first instant of her broken cries, 
Gave bright Leucote voice, and made her speak, 
To ease her anguish, whose swoln breast did break 
With anger at her goddess, that did touch 
Hero so near for that she used so much ; 

* Countenance. t Singers of dirges, from Greek eijikedelos. 

\ Chapman's Greek is so inacurate, that Ecte is, probably, a mistake 
for (Ecte, and intended to be derived from oiktus, pity. 



176 . CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE: 

And. tbriTsting her white neck at Venus, saids 

" Why may not amorous Hero seem a maid, 

Tliough she be none, as well as you suppress 

111 modest cheeks your inward wantonness? 

How often have we drawn you from above, 

T ' exchange with mortals rites for rites in love ! 

Why in your priest, then, call you that offense, 

That shines in you, and is your influenced" 

With this, the Furies stopped Leucote's lips. 

Enjoined by Venus; who with rosy whips 

Beat the kind bird. Fierce lightning from her eyes 

Did set on fire fair Hero's sacrifice, 

Wliich was her torn robe and enforced hair; 

And the bright flame became a maid most fair 

For her aspect : her tresses were of wire, 

Knit like a net, where hearts, set all on fire, 

Struggled in pants, and could not get released; 

Her arms were all with golden pincers dressed, 

And twenty-fashioned knots, pullies, and brakes, 

And all her body girt with painted snakes ; 

Her down parts in a scorpion's tail combined. 

Freckled with twenty colors; pied wings shined 

Out of her shoulders ; cloth had never dye, 

Nor sweeter colors never viewed eye, 

In scorching Turkey, Cares, Tartary, 

Than shined about this sj)irit notorious ; 

Nor was Arachne's web so glorious. 

Of lightning and of shreds she was begot ; 

More hold in base dissemblers is there not. 

Her name was Eronusis. Venus flew 

From Hero's sight, and at her chariot drew 

This wondrous creature to so steep a hight, 

That all the world she might command with sleight 

Of her gay wings ; and then she bade her haste, — 

Since Hero had dissembled, and disgraced 

Her rites so much, — and every breast infect 

With her deceits : she made her architect 

Of all dissimulation ; and since then 

Never was any trust in maids or men. 



BERO AND LEANDER. 177 

Oh, it spited 
Fair Venus' lienrt to see her most tltliq-htecl, 
And one she choosed, for temper of her mind, 
To be the only ruler of her kind. 
So soon to let her virgin race be ended! 
Not simply for the fault a whit offended. 
But that in strife for chasteness with the Moon, 
Sj^iteful Diana bade her show but one 
That was her servant vowed, and lived a maid; 
And, now she thought to answer that upbraid, 
Hero had lost her answer: who knows not 
Yenus would seem as far from any spot 
Of light demeanor, as the very skin 
'Twixt Cynthia's brows? Sin is ashamed of sin. 
Up Venus flew, and scarce durst up for fear 
Of Phoebe's laughter, when she passed her spheres 
And so most ugly-clouded was the hght, 
That day was hid in day ; night came ere night : 
And Venus could not through the thick air pierce, 
Till the day's king, god of undaunted verse. 
Because she was so plentiful a theme 
To such as wore his laurel anademe,* 
Like to a fiery bullet made descent. 
And from her passage those fat vaj^ors rent, 
That, being not thoroughly rarefied to rain. 
Melted like pitch, as blue as any vein; 
And scalding tempests made the earth to shrink 
Under their fervor, and the world did think 
In every drop a torturing spirit flew. 
It pierced so deeply, and it burned so blue. 

Betwixt all this and Hero, Hero held 
Leander's picture, as a Persian shield; 
And she was free from fear of worst success; 
The more ill threats us, we suspect the less : 
As we grow haj^less, violence subtle grows, 
Dumb, deaf, and blind, and comes when no man knows. 

* Cliaplet, or wreath. 
"Of garlands, anademes, and wreaths, 
This nymphal nought hut sweetness hreathes." 

Drayton.— The Muses' Elysium, Xymph. Y 



178 ClIRIBTOPIIBR MARLOWE. 

THE FIFTH SESTIAD. 

THE AEGUMEXT Ol-^ THE FIFTH SESTIAD. 

Day doubles her accustomed date, 
As loth the Xii^ht, incensed by Fate. 
ShouUl wreck our lovers. Ilei'o's jiliglit; 
Longs for Leaudei' and the iiiglit: 
■Whicli ere her thirst\- wish recovers, 
She sends for two betrothed lovers, 
And marries them, that, with their crew, 
Their sports, and ceremonies due, 
She covertly might celebrate, 
With secret joy her own estate. 
She makes a feast, at whicli appears 
The wild nymph Teras, that still bears 
An ivory lute, tells omino»5 tales, 
And sings at solemn festivals. 

Now was bright Hero weary of the day, 
Thought an Olympiad in Leander's stay. 
Sol and the soft-foot Hours hung on his arms, 
And would not let him svvdm, foreseeing his harms ; 
That day Aurora double grace obtained 
Of her love Phoebus ; she his horses reined, 
Set on his golden knee, and, as she list, 
She pulled him back; and, as she pulled, she kissed, 
To have him turned t3 bed: he loved her more. 
To see the love Lsander Hero bore : 
Examples profit much ; ten times in one. 
In x3ersons full of note, good deeds are done. 
Day was so long, men walking fell asleep ; 
The heavy humors that their eyes did steep 
Made them fear mischiefs. The hard streets were beds 
For covetous churls and for ambitious heads, 
That, spite of Nature, would their business ply : 
All thought they had the falling epilei^sy, 
Man groveled so upon the smothered ground; 
And pity did the heart of heaven confound. 
The Gods, the Graces, and the Muses came 
Down to the Destinies, to stay the frame 
Of the true lovers' deaths, and all world's tears: 
But Death before had stopped their cruel ears. 



HERO AND LEANDER. 179 

All the celestials p?,.rted mourning then, 
Pierced with our human miseries more than men : 
Ah, nothing doth the world ^Yith mischief hi], 
But want of feeling one another's ill! 

With their descent the day grew something fair, 
And cast a brighter robe upon the air. 
Hero, to shorten time with merriment, 
For young Alcmane and bright Mya sent, 
Tw^o lovers that had long craved marriage-dues 
At Hero's hands : but she did still refuse ; 
For lovely Mya was her consort vo'sved 
In her maid state, and therefore not allowed 
To amorous nuptials : yet fair Hero now 
Intended to disj^ense ^Yitll her cold vow, 
Since hers was broken, and to marry her: 
The rites w^ould pleasing matter minister 
To her conceits, and shorten tedious day. 
They came ; sweet Music ushered th' odorous way, 
And w^anton Air in twenty sweet forms danced 
After her fingers ; Beauty end Love advanced 
Tlieir ensigns in the downless rosy faces 
Of youths and maids, led after by the Graces. 
For all these Hero made a friendly feast, 
AYelcomed them kindly, did much love protest. 
"Winning their hearts with all the means she might, 
That, when her fault should chance t' abide the light, 
Their loves might cover or extenuate it, 
And high in her -svorst fate make pity sit. 

She married them ; and in the banquet came, 
Borne by the virgins. Hero strived to frame 
Her thoughts to mirth : ah me, but hard it is 
To imitate a false and forced bliss ; 
IQ may a sad mind f ;,rge a merry face, 
Nor hath constrained laughter any grace. 
Then laid she wine en cares to make them sink: 
Who fears the threats of Fortune, let him drink. 

To these quick nuptials entered suddenly 
Admired Teras with the ebon thigli ; 
A nymph that haunted the green Scstian groves, 
And would consort soft virgins in their loves, 



18a CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

At gaysome triumphs and on solemn days. 

Singing" iDropbetic elegies and lays, 

And lingering of a silver lute she tied 

With black and purple scarfs by her left side. 

Apollo gave it, and her skill withal, 

And she was termed his dwarf, she was so small i 

Yet great in virtue, for his beams inclosed 

His virtues in her; never was proposed 

Riddle to her, or augury, strange or new, 

Bat she resolved it; never slight tale flew 

From her charmed lijDS, without important sense, 

Shown in some grave succeeding consequence. 

This little sylvan, with her songs and tales 
Gave such estate to feasts and nuptials. 
Tint though ofttimes she forewent* tragedies. 
Yet for her strangeness still she pleased their eyes; 
And for her smallness they admired her so. 
They thought her perfect born, and could not grow. 

All eyes were on her. Hero did command 
All altar decked with sacred state should stand 
At the feast's upper end, close by the bride, 
On which the pretty nymjDh might sit espied. 
Tlien all were silent; every one so hears. 
As all their senses climbed into their ears: 
And first this amorous tale, that fitted well 
Fair Hero and the nuptials, she did tell. 

The Tale of Teras. 
Hymen, that now is god of nuptial rites, 
And crowns with honor Love and his delights. 
Of Athens was, a youth so sweet of face, 
That many thought him of the female race; 
Sa3h quickening brightness did his clear eyes dart, 
Warm went their beams to his beholder's heart ; 
In such pure leagues his beauties were combined, 
That there your nuptial contracts first were signed; 
For as j^roportion, white and crimson, meet 
In beauty's mixture, all right clear and sweet, 



* Weut before, preceded. 



HERO AND LEANBER. 181 

The eye responsible, the golden hair, 
And none is held, without the other, fair; 
All spring together, all together fade ; 
Such intermixed aifections should invade 
Two perfect lovers ; which being yet unseen, 
Their virtues and their comforts copied been 
In beauty's concord, subject to the eye; 
And that, in Hymen, pleased so matchlessly, 
That lovers were esteemed in their full grace, 
Like form and color mixed in Hymen's face ; 
And such sweet concord was thought worthy then 
Of torches, music, feasts, and greatest men : 
So Hymen looked, that even the chastest mind 
He moved to join in joys of sacred kind; 
For only now his chin's first down consorted 
His head's rich fleece, in golden curls contorted ; 
And as he was so loved, he loved so too: 
Sa should best beauties, bound by nuptials, do. 

Bright Eucharis, who was by all men said 
The noblest, fairest, and the richest maid 
Of all th' Athenian damsels. Hymen loved 
With such transmission, that his heart removed 
From his white breast to hers : but her estate, 
In passing his, was so interminate* 
For wealth and honor, that his love durst feed 
On nought but sight and hearing, nor could breed 
Hope of requital, the grand prize of love; 
Nor could he hear or see, but he must prove 
How his rare beauty's music would agree 
With maids in consort ; therefore robbed he 
His chin of those same few first fruits it bore. 
And, clad in such attire as virgins wore, 
He kept them company; and might right well, 
For he did all but Eucharis excel 
In all the fairf of beauty : yet he wanted 
Virtue to make his own desires implanted 
In his dear Eucharis ; for women never 
Love beauty in their sex, but envy ever. 

* Pisproportioned, unequal, t Fairness, 



182 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

His judgment yet, that durst not suit address, 

Nor, past due means, presume of due success, 

Reason gat Fortune in the end to speed 

To his best iDra^yers: but strange it seemed, indeed, 

That Fortune should a chaste affection bless : 

Preferment seldom graceth bashfulness. 

Nor graced it Hjm3n yet; but many a dart, 

And many an amorous thought, enthrilled* his heart, 

Ere he obtained her; and he sick became, 

Forced to abstain her sight; and then the flame 

Raged in his bosom. Oh, wliat grief did fill him! 

Sight made hiin sick, and want of sight did kill him. 

The virgins wondered where Disetia stayed, 

For so did Hymen term himself, a mi'id. 

At length with sick'y looks he greeted them: 

'Tis strange to see 'gainst what an extreme stream 

A lover strives; poor Hymen looked so ill, 

That as in merit he increased still 

By suffering much, so he in grace decreased: 

Women are most won, when men merit least: 

If Merit look not well. Love bids stand by; 

Love's special lesson is to please the eye. 

And Hymen soon recovering all he lost, 

Deceiving still these maids, but himself most, 

His love and he with many virgin dames, 

Noble by birth, noble by beauty's flames. 

Leaving the town with songs and hallowed lights, 

To do great Ceres Eleusina rites 

Of zealous sacrifice, were made a prey 

To barbarous rovers, that in ambush lay. 

And with rude hands enforced their shining spoil. 

Fir from the darkened city, tired with toil ; 

And when the yellow issue of the sky 

Came trooping forth, jealous of cruelty 

To their bright fellows of this under-heaven. 

Into a double night they saw them driven, — ■ 

A horrid cave, the thieves' black mansion ; 

Where, weary of the journey they had gone, 

* Pierged, 



tIERO AND LEANDER, 183 

Their last night's watch, and drunk with their sweet 

Dull Mcrpheus entered, laden with silken ehaiijs, [trains, 

Stronger than iron, and bound the swelHng veins 

And tired senses of these lawless swains. 

But when the virgin lights thus dimly burned. 

Ob, what a hell was heaven in! How they mourned. 

And wrung their hands, and wound their gentle forms 

Into the shapes of sorrow! Golden storms 

Fell from their eyes ; as vrhen the sun appears. 

And yet it rains, so showed their eyes their tears: 

And, as when funeral dames watch a dead corse, 

Weeping about it, telling with remorse 

What pains he felt, how long in pain he lay, 

How little food he ate. what he vrould say ; 

And then mix mournful tales of others' deaths. 

Smothering themselves in clouds of their own breaths; 

At length, one cheering other, call for wine; 

The o-olden bowl drinks tears out of their eyne. 

As they drink wine from it; and round it gees, 

Each helping other to relieve their woes ; 

So cast these virgins' beauties mutual rays, 

One lights another, face the face displays ; 

Lips by reflection kissed, and liands hands shook, 

Even by the whiteness each of other took. 

But Hjnnen now used friendly Morpheus' aid. 
Slew every thief, and rescued every maid : 
And now did his enamored passion take 
Heart fi'om his hearty deed, whose worth did make 
His hope of bounteous Eucharis more strong; 
And now came Love with Proteus, who had long 
Juggled the little god with prayers and gifts. 
Ban through all shapes, and varied all his shifts. 
To win Love's stay with him, and make him love him; 
And when he saw no strength of sleight could move him 
To make him love or stav, he nimblv turned 
Into Love's self, he so extremely burned. 
And thus came Love, with Proteus and his i^ower, 
T' encounter Eucharis: first, like the flower 
That Juno's milk did spring, the silver lily. 
He fell on Hymen's hand, who straight did spy 



184 CHBISTOPHEB MARLOWE. 

The bounteous godhead, and with "wondrous joy 

Offered it Eucharis. She, wondrous coy, 

Drew back her hand: the subtle flower did woo ib, 

And, drawing it near, mixed 6o you could not know it: 

As two clear tapers mix in one their light. 

So did the lily and the hand their white. 

She viewed it; and her view the form bestows 

Amongst her spirits; for, as color flows 

From superficies of each thing we see. 

Even so with colors forms emitted be ; 

And where Love's form is. Love is; Love is form: 

He entered at the eye; his sacred storm 

Rose from the hand, Love's sweetest instrument: 

It stirred her blood's sea so, that high it went, 

And beat in bashful waves 'gainst the white shore 

Of her divided cheeks ; it raged the more. 

Because the tide went 'gainst the haughty wind 

Of her estate and birth : and, as we find. 

In fainting ebbs, the flowery Ze]A\jv hurls 

The green-haired Hellespont, broke in silver curls, - 

'Gainst Hero's tower ; but in his blast's retrer.t. 

The waves obeying him, they after beat. 

Leaving the chalky shore a great way pale, 

Then moist it freshly with another gale; 

So ebbed and flowed in Eucharis's face, 

Coyness and Love strived which had greatest grace ; 

Virginity did fight on Coyness' side. 

Fear of her parents' frowns, and female pride 

Loathing the lower place, more than it loves 

The high contents desert and virtue moves. 

With Love fought Hymen"s beauty and his valour, 

Which scarce could so much favor yet allure 

To come to strike, but fameless idle stood: 

Action is fiery valor's sovereign good. 

But Love once entered, wished no greater aid 

Than he could find within ; thought thought betrayed; 

The bribed, but incorrupted, garrison 

Sung "lo Hymen;" there those songs begun. 

And Love was grown so rich with such a gain, 

And wanton with the ease of his free reign, 



HERO AND LEANDER. 185 

That he would turn into her roughest frowns 
To turn them out: and thus he Hymen crowns 
King of his thoughts, man's greatest cmpery: 
This' was his first brave step to deity. 

Home to the mourning city they repair, 
With news as wholesome as the morniug air, 
To the sad parents of each saved maid: 
But Hymen and his Eucharis had laid 
This plot, to make the flame of their delight 
Eound as the moon at full, and full as bright. 

Because the parents of chaste Eucharis 
Exceeding Hymen's so, might cross their bhss ; 
And as the world rewards deserts, that law 
Can not assist with force; so when they saw 
Their daughter safe, take 'vantage of their own. 
Praise Hymen's valor much, nothing bestown; 
Hvmen must leave the wgins in a grove 
Far off from Athens, and go first to prove, 
If to restore them all with fame and life, 
He should enjoy his dearest as his wife. 
This told to air the maids, the most agree: 
The riper sort, knowing what 'tis to be 
The first mouth of a news so far derived, 
And that to hear and bear news brave folks lived, 
As being a carriage special hard to bear 
Occurrents. these occurrents being so dear. 
They did with grace protest, they were content 
T' accost their "friends with all their compliment. 
For Hymen's good ; but to incur their harm. 
There he must pardon them. This wit went warm 
To Adolesche's* brain, a nymph born high. 
Made all of voice and fire, that upwards fly : 
Her heart and all her forces' nether train 
Climbed to her tongue, and thither fell her brain, 
Since it could go no higher ; and it must go ; 
All powers she had, even her tongue did so : 
In spirit and quickness she much joy did take. 
And loved her tongue, only for quickness' sake ; 



* Gr. adolesches, garrulous. 



183 ciiristopbeh marlowe. 

And slie would haste and tell. The rest all stay: 

Hymen gois one, the nymph another way; 

And what became of her I'll tell at last: 

Ycit take her visage now; — moist-lipped, long-faced. 

Tain like an iron we«dge, so sharp and tart, 

As 'twere of purpose made to cleave Love's heart: 

Woll were this lovely beauty rid of her, 

And Hymen did at Athens now prefer 

His welcome suit, which he wdth joy asj^ired: 

A hundred princely youths with him retired 

To fetch the nymphs; chariots and music went: 

And home they C'.me: heaven with a^Dplauses rent. 

The nuptia^is straight proceed, whiles all the town, 

Fresh in their joys, might do them most renown. 

First, gold-locked Hymen did to church re^^air, 

Like a quick offering burned in flames of hair; 

And after, with a virgin firmament 

Til 3 godhead-proving bride attended went 

B3iore them all: she looked in her command, 

As if form-giving Cypria's silver hand 

G.-ipped ail their beauties, and crushed out one flame; 

S le blushed to see how beauty overcame 

The thoughts of all men. Next, before her went 

Five lovely children, decked v/ith ornament 

Of her sweet colors, bearing torches by; 

For light was held a happ}^ augury 

Oi' generation, whose efficient right 

Is nothing else but to produce to light. 

Tlie odd disparent number they did choose, 

To show the union married loves should use, 

Sm'je in two equal parts it will not sever, 

But the midst holds one to rejoin it ever. 

As common to both parts: men therefore deem. 

That equal number gods do not esteem, 

BL'ing authors of sweet peace and unity, 

Biit pleasing to th' infernal empery, 

Under whose ensigns Wars and Discords fight. 

Since an even number \o\\ may disunite 

In two pirts equil, nought i!i middle left 

To reunite each part from other reft; 



JTEUO A XT) J. BAND Ell. Vo 

And five tliey hold in wr st esper-ial prize,* 
Since 'tis tlie first odd nr,m])er tliat dotli rise 
From the two forem(,st numbers" nnity, 
Th;it odd and even jire; which are two paid tlivi^e; 
For one no number is; l)ut thence doth flow 
The powerful race of number. Next, did gv 
A noble matron, that did spinning bear 
A huswife's rock and spindle, and did weai- 
A wether's skin, with all the snowy fieecc*, 
To intimate that even the daintiest j^iece 
And noblest-born dame should indusTvious be * 
That which does good disgraceth no degree. 
And now to Juno's temple they r.re come, 
Where her grave 2)riest stood in the marriage-room: 
On his right arm did hang a scarlet veil, 
And from his shoulders to the ground did trail, 
On either side, ribbons of white and blue : 
With the red veil he hid the bashful hue 
Of the chaste bride, to show the modest shame, 
In coupling with a man, should grace a dame. 
Then took he the disparent silks, and tied 
The lovers by the waists, and side to side, 
In token that thereafter they must bind 
In one self-sacred knot each other's mind. 
Before them on an altar he presented 
Both fire and water, which w^as first invented, 
Since to ingenerato every human creature 
And every other birth produced by Nature, 
Moisture and heat must mix : so man and wife 
For human race must join in nuptial life. 
Then one ( f Juno's birds, the painted jay, 
He sacrificed, and took the gall away; 
All which he did behind the altar thrown 
In sign no bitterness of hate should grow, 
'Twixt married loves, nor any least disdain. 
Nothing they spake, for 'twas esteemed too plain 
For the most silken mildness of a maid. 
To let a public audience hear it said, 

* Price, value. 



188 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

She boldly took the man ; and so respected 

Was baslifulness in Athens, it erected 

To chaste Agneia, which is Shamefacedness, 

A sacred temple, holding her a goddess. 

And now to feasts, masques, and triumphant shows, 

The shining troops returned, even till earth-throes 

Brought forth with joj the thickest part of night 

When the sweat nuptial song, that used to cite 

All to their rest, was by Pliemonoe sung. 

First Delphian prophetess, whose graces sprung 

Out of the Muses' well: she sung before 

The bride into her chamber; at which door 

A matron and a torchbearer did stand: 

A painted box of comfits in her hand 

The matron held, and so did other some 

That compassed round the honored nuptial room. 

The custom was, that every maid did wear, 

During her maidenhood, a silken sphere 

About her waist, above her inmost weed, 

Knit with Minerva's knot, and that was freed 

By the fair bridegroom on the marriage-night, 

With many ceremonies of delight: 

And yet eternised* Hymen's tender bride. 

To suffer it dissolved so, sweetly cried. 

The maids that heard, so loved and did adore her. 

They wished with all their hearts to suffer for her. 

So had the matrons, that with comfits stood 

About the chamber, such affectionate blood, 

And so true teeling of her harmless pains. 

That every one a shower of comfits rains ; 

For which the bride-youths scrambling on the ground. 

In noise of that sweet hail her cries were drowned. 

And thus blest Hymen joyed his gracious bride, 

And for his joy was after deified. 

The saffron mirror by which Phoebus' love, 

Green Tellus, decks her, now he held above 

The cloudy mountains: and the noble maid, 

Sharp-visaged Adolesche, that was strayed 

* Fioni tbe French eterniser, to make eteinal. The word, although not 
obsolete, is now rarely used. 



^^RO AND LEANDEll. 181) 

Out of her way, in hasting- with her news, 

Not till this hour tli' Athenian turrets views ; 

And now brought home by guides, she heard by all. 

That her long-kept occurrents would be stale, 

And how fair Hymen's honors did excel 

For those rare news, which she came short to tell. 

To hear her dear tongue robbed of such a joy, 

Made the well-spoken nymph take such a toy, 

That down she sunk ; when lightning from above 

Shrunk her lean body, and, for mere free love. 

Turned her into the pied-plumed Psittacus, 

That now the Parrot is surnamed by us, 

Who still with counterfeit confusion prates 

Nousrht but news common to the commonest mates. — « 

This told, strange Teras touched her lute, and sung 

This ditty, that the torchy evening sprung. 

Epithala'mion Teratos. 

Come, come, dear Night ! Love's mart of kisses. 

Sweet close of his ambitious line, 
The fruitful summer of his blisses! 

Love's glory doth in darkness shine. 

Oh, come, soft rest of cares! Come, Night! 

Come, naked Virtue's only tire. 
The reaped harvest of the light. 
Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire! 
Love calls to war; 

Sighs his alarms, 
Lips his swords are, 
The field his arms. 

Come, Night, and lay thy velvet hand 

On glorious Day's outfacing face ; 
And all thy crowned flames command. 
For torches to our nuptial grace' 
Love calls to war; 

Sighs his alarms. 
Lips his swords are, 
The field his arms. 



190 CUmSTOPItER MAELOWJii. ' 

No need have we of factious Day, 

To cast, ill env}" of tli}^ peace, 
Her balls of discord in thy wa}^: 

Here Beauty's day doth never cease; 
Day is abstracted here, 
And varied in a triple sphere. 
Hero, Alcmane, Mya, so outshine thee, 
Ere thou come here, let Thetis thrice refine thee. 
Love calls to war: 
Sighs his alarms. 
Lips his swords are, 
The field his arms. 

The evening' star I see: 

Rise, youths ! the evening star 
Helps Love to summon war; 
Both now embracing be. [rise! 

Rise, youths! Love's rite claims more than banquets; 
Now the bright marigolds that deck the skies, 
Phoebus' celestial flowers, that, contrary 
To his flowers here, ope when he shuts his eye, 
And shut when he doth open, crown your sjiorts: 
Now Love in Night, and Night in Love exhorts 
Courtship and dances : all your parts employ. 
And suit Night's rich expansure with your joy. 
Love paints his longings in sweet virgins' eyes: [rise! 
Rise, youths! Love's rite claims more than banquets; 

Rise, virgins ! Let fair nuptial loves enfold 
Your fruitless breasts : the maidenheads ye hold 
Are not your own alone, but parted are ; 
Part in disposing them your parents share, 
And that a third part is ; so must ye save 
Your loves a third, and you your thirds must have. 
Love paints his longings in sweet virgins' eyes: [rise! 
Rise, youths! Love's rite claims more than banquets; 

Herewith the amorous spirit, that was so kind 
To Teras' hair, and combed it down with wind. 
Still as it, comet-like, brake from her brain. 
Would needs have Teras gone, and did refrain 



HE no AND LEANDER. 191 

To blow it down: which, staring up, dismayed 
The timorous fenst: and she no longer stayed; 
But, bowing to the bridegroom and the bride, 
Did, like a shooting exhalation, glide 
Out of their sights: the turning of her back 
Made them all shriek, it looked so ghastly black. 
Oil, hapless Hero ! that most hapless cloud 
Thy soon-succeeding tragedy foreshowed. 
Thus all the nuptial crew to joys depart; 
But much-wrung Hero stood Hell's blackest dart i 
Whose wound because I grieve so to display, 
I use digressions thus t' increase the day. 

^ 



THE SIXTH SESTIAD, 



THE AEGUMEXT OF THE SIXTH SESTIAD. 

Leucote flies to all the Winds, 
And from the Fates tlieir outrage blinds, 
That Hero and her love r.iaj- meet. 
Leaiider, with Love's complete fleet 
Manned in himself, pnts forth to seas; 
When sti-aiy.ht the ruthless destinies, 
With Ate, stir the winds to war 
Upon the Hellespont ; their jar 
Drowns poor Leauder. Hero's ejes 
Wet witnesses of his surprise, 
Her torch blown out, grief easts her down 
Upon her love, aiul both doth drown: 
In whose just ruth the god of seas 
Transforms them to th' Acanthides. 

No longer could the Day nor Destinies 
Delay the Night, who now did frowning rise 
Into her throne ; and at her humorous breasts 
Visions and Dreams lay sucking: all men's rests 
Fell like the mists of death upon their eyes, 
Day's too-long darts so killed their faculties. 
The Winds yet, like the flowers, to cease began ; 
For bright Leucote, Yenus' whitest swan, 
That held sweet Hero dear, spread her fair wings, 
Like to a field of snow, and message brings 



192 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

Fr jm Venus to the Fates, t' entreat them lay 

Their charge upon the Winds their rage to stay. 

That the stern battle of the seas might cease, 

An 1 guard Lomder to his love in peace. 

The Fates consent; — ah me, dissembling Fates! — = 

Thyy showed their favors to conceal tlieir hates, 

And draw Leander on, lest seas too high 

Should stay his too obsequious destiny: 

Wno like a fleering slavish j^arasite, 

In warping profit or a traitorous sleight. 

Hoops round his rotten body v/ith devotes, 

And pricks his descant face full of false notes; 

Praising with open throat, and oaths as foul 

AlS his false heart, the beauty of an owl ; 

Kissing his skipping hand with charmed skips, 

That can not leave, but leaps upon his lips 

Like a cock-sparrow, or a shameless quean 

Sharp at a red-lijiiped youth, and nought doth mean 

Ol" all his antic shows, but doth repair 

More tender fawns, and takes a scattered hair 

From his tame subject's shoulder; whips and calls 

For everything he lacks : creeps 'gainst the walls 

With backward humbless, to give needless Avay: 

Thus his false fate did with Leander play. 

First to black Eurus flies the white Leucote, 
(Born 'mongst the negroes in the Levant sea. 
On whose curled head the glowdng sun doth rise,) 
And shows, the sovereign will of Destinies, 
To have him cease his blasts ; and down he lies. 
Next, to the fenny Notus course she holds. 
And found him leaning, with his arms in folds, 
Upon a rock, his white hair full of showers ; 
And him she chargeth by the fatal powers, 
To hold in his wet cheeks his cloudy voice. 
To Zephyr then that doth in flowers rejoice; 
To snake-foot Boreas next she did remove, 
And found him tossing of his ravished love. 
To heat his frosty bosom hid in snow ; 
Who with Leucote's sight did cease to blow. 



HERO AND LEANDER. 193 

Thus all were still to Hero's heart's desh'e ; 

Wlio with all sx^eed did consecrate a fire 

Of flaming gums and comfortable spice, 

To light her torch, which in such curious price 

She held, being object to Leander's sight. 

That nought but fires perfumed must give it light. 

She lovecf it so, she grieved to see it burn. 

Since it would waste, and scon to ashes turn: 

Yet, if it burned not, 'twere not worth her eyes; 

What made it nothing, gave it all the prize. 

Sweet torch, true glass of our society ! 

What man does good, but he consumes thereby? 

But thou wert loved for good, held high, given show- 

Poor virtue loathed for good, obscured, held low : 

Do good, be pined, be deedless good, disgraced; 

Unless we feed on men. we let them fast. 

Yet Hero with these thoughts her torch did spend: 

When bees make wax, Nature doth not intend 

It should be made a torch ; but we, that know 

The proper virtue of it, make it so, 

And when 'tis made, we light it : nor did Nature 

Propose one life to maids: but each such creature 

Makes by her soul the best of her true state, 

Which without love is rude, disconsolate. 

And wants love's fire to make it mild and bright, 

Till when, maids are but torches wanting light. 

Thus 'gainst our grief, not cause of grief, we fight: 

The right of nought is gleaned, but the delight. 

Uo we?it she: but to tell how she descended. 

Would God she were not dead, or my verse ended! 

Bhe was the rule of wishes, sum, and end. 

For all the parts that did on love depend: 

Yet cast the torch his brightness further forth : 

But what shines nearest best, holds truest worth. 

Leander did not through such tempests swim 

To kiss the torch, although it lighted him : 

But all his powers in her desires awaked. 

Her love and virtues clothed him richly naked. 

Men kiss but fire that only shows pursue; 

Her torch and Hero, figure show and virtue. 



194 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

Now at opposed Abydos nought was heard 
But bleating flocks, and many a bellovang herd. 
Slain for the nuptials; cracks of falKng woods; 
Blows of broad axes ; pourings out of floods. 
The guilty Hellespont was mixed and stained 
Witlfbloody torrent that the shambles rained; 
Not arguments of feast, but shows that bled, 
Foretelling that red night that followed. 
More blood was spilt, more honors ^vere addresi 
Than could have graced any happy feast; 
Eich banquets, triumphs, every pomp employs 
His sumptuous hand; no miser's nuptial joys. 
Air felt continual thunder with the noise 
Made in the general marriage-violence ; 
And no man knew the cause of this expense, 
But the two hapless lords, Leander s sire, 
And poor Leander, poorest where the fire 
Of credulous love made him most rich surmised ^ 
As short was he of that himself so prized, 
As is an empty gallant full of form, 
Tliat thinks each look an act, each drop a storm, 
That falls from his brave breathings ; most brougi L up 
In our metropolis, and hath his cup 
Brought after him to feasts; and much palm bears 
For his rare judgment in th' attire he v/ears ; 
H ith seen the hot Low Countries, not their heat, 
Observes their rami:»ires and their buildings yet ; 
And, for youi* sweet discourse with mouths, is heard 
Giving instructions with his very beard ; 
Hath gone with an ambassador, and been 
A great man's mate in traveling, even to Rhene; 
And then puts all his worth in such a face 
As he saw brave men make, and strives for grace 
'To get his news forth: as when you descry 
A ship, with all her sail contends to fly 
Out of the narrow Thames with winds unapt, 
Now crosseth here, now there, then this way rapt, 
And then hath one point reached, then alters all, 
And to another crooked reach doth fall 



HERO AND LEAN BE R. 195 

Of half a birdbolt's shoot, keeping more coil 
Than if she danced upcm the ocean's toil; 
So serious is his trifling company, 
In all his swelling ship of vacantry. 
And so short of himself in his high thought 
Was our Leander in his fortunes brought, 
And in his fort of love that he thought won ; 
But otherwise he scorns camparison. 

Oh, sweet Leander, thy large worth I hide 
In a short grave ! ill-favored storms must chide 
Thy sacred favor ;* I in floods of ink 
Must drown thy graces, which white j^apers drink, 
Even as thy beauties did the foul black seas ; 
I must describe the hell of thy decease, 
That heaven did merit : yet I needs must see 
Our painted fools and cockhorse peasantry 
Still, still usurj:*, with long lives, loves, and lust, 
The seats of Virtue, cutting short as dust 
Her dear-bought issue: ill to worse converts, 
And tramples in the blood of all deserts 

Night close and silent now goes fast before 
The captains and the soldiers to the shore, 
On whom attended the appointed fleet 
At Sestos' bay, that should Leander meet. 
"Who feigned he in another ship would pass : 
Which must not be, for no one mean there was 
To get his love home, but the course he took. 
Forth did his beauty for his beauty look. 
And saw her through her torch, as you behold 
Sometimes within the sun a face of gold, 
Formed in strong thoughts, by that tradition's forcci. 
That says a god sits there and guides his course. 
His sister was with him ; to whom he shewed 
His guide by sea, and said, " Oft have you viewed 
In one heaven many stars, but never yet. 
In one star many heavens till now were met. 
See, lovely sister! see, now Hero shines, 
No heaven but her appears ; each star repines, 

* See ante, p. 175, note *. 



196 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.- 

And all are clad in clouds, as if they mourned 

To be by influence of earth out-burned. 

Yet doth she shine, and teacheth Virtue's train 

Still to be constant in hell's blackest reign, 

Tliough even the gods themselves do so entreat thena 

As they did hate, and earth as she would eat them." 

Off went his silken robe, and in he leapt. 
Whom the kind waves so licorously cleapt,* 
Thickening for haste, one in another, so, 
To kiss his skin, that he might almost go 
To Hero's tower, had that kind minute lasted. 
But now the cruel Fates with Ate hasted 
To all the Winds, and made them battle fight 
Upon the Hellespont, for either's right 
Pretended to the windy monarchy; 
And forth they brake, the seas mixed with the sk}'-, 
And tossed distressed Lsander, being in hell, 
As high as heaven: bliss not in hight doth dwell. 
The Destinies sate dancing on the waves. 
To see the glorious Winds with mutual braves 
Consume each other: oh, true glass, to see 
How ruinous ambitious statists be 
To their own glories! Poor Leander cried 
For help to seaborn Venus ; she denied, — 
To Boreas, that, for his Atthsea's sake, 
He would some pity on his Hero take, 
And for his own love's sake, on his desires: 
But Glory never blows cold Pity's fires. 
Then called he Neptune, who, through all the noise, 
Knew with affright his wracked Leander's voice, 
And up he rose ; for haste his forehead hit, 
'Gainst heaven's hard crystal; his proud waves he smit 
With his forked scepter, that could not obey ; 
Much greater powers than Neptune's gave them sw^ay. 
They loved Leander so, in groans they brake 
When they came near him ; and such space did take 
'Twixt one another, loth to issue on. 
That in their shallow furrows earth was shown, 

* Clipped, embraced. 



HERO AND LEANDISR. l{)7 

And the poor lover took a little breabli : 

But the curst Fates sate spinning of his death 

On every wave, and with the servile Y\'inds 

Tumbled them on him. And now Hero finds, 

By that she felt, her dear Leander's state ; 

She Avept, and prayed for him to ever}' Fate ; 

And every Wind that whipped her with her hair 

About the faee, she kissed and spake it fair, 

Kneeled to it, gave it drink out of her eyes 

To quench his thirst: but still their cruelties 

Even her poor torch envied, and rudely beat 

The bating flame from that dear food it eat ; 

Dear, for it nourished her Leander's life, 

"Which with her robe she rescued from their strifes 

But silk too soft was such hard hearts to break" : 

And she, dear soul, even as her silk, faint, weak, 

Could not preserve it: out, oh. out it went! 

Leander still called Neptune, that now rent 

His brackish curls, and tore his wrinkled face, 

Where tears in billows did each other chase; 

And, burst with ruth, he hurled his marble mace 

At the stern Fates: it wounded Lachesis 

That drew Leander's thread, and could not miss 

The thread itself, as it her hand did hit. 

But smote it full, and quite did sunder it. 

The more kind Neptune raged, the more be rased 

His love's life's fort, and killed as he embraced: 

Anger doth still his own mishap increase ; 

If any comfort live, it is in peace. 

Ob, thievish Fates, to let blood, flesh, and sense, 

Build two fair temples for their excellence, 

To rob it with a poisoned influence! 

Though souls' gifts starve, the bodies are held dear 

Li ugliest things; sense-sport preserves a bear: 

But here nought serves our turns : oh, heaven and earth. 

How most most wretched is our human birth ! 

And now did all the tyrannous crew depart, 

Knowing there was a storm in Hero's heart, 

Greater than they could make, and scorned their smart. 



198 CHniSTOPHEn MARLOW£!. . 

She bowed herself so low out of her tower, 
That wonder 'twas she fell not ere her hour, 
With searching the lamenting waves for him: 
Like a poor snail, her gentle supple limb 
Hung on her turret's top, so most downright, 
As she would dive beneath the darkness quite. 
To find her jew^el; — jewel! — her Leander, 
A name of all earth's jewels pleased not her 
Like his dear name: "Leander, still my choice. 
Come nouglit but my Leander! Oh, my voice. 
Turn to Leander! Henceforth be all sounds. 
Accents, and phrases, that show all griefs' wounds. 
Analyzed in Leander ! Oh, black change ! 
Trumpets, do you with thunder of 3'our clange, 
Drive out this change's horror! My voice faints: 
Where all joy was, now shriek out all complaints!" 
Thus cried she ; for her mixed soul could tell 
Her love was dead : and when the Morning fell 
Prostrate upon the weeping earth for woe. 
Blushes, that bled out of her cheeks, did show 
Leander brought by Neptune, bruised and torn 
With cities' ruins he to rocks had worn. 
To filthy usuring rocks, that would have blood, 
Though they couJd get of him no other good. 
She saw liim, and the sight was much, much more 
Than might have served to kill her: should her store 
Of giant sorrows speak? — Burst, — die, — bleed, 
And leave poor plaints to us that shall succeed. 
She fell on her. love's bosom, hugged it fast. 
And with Leander's name she breathed her last. 

Neptune for pity in his arms did take them. 
Flung them into the air, and did awake them 
Like two sweet bu'ds, sui'named th' Acanthides, 
Which we call thistle- warps,* that near no seas 
Dare ever come, but still in couples fl}^, 
And feed on thistle-tops, to testify 

* Thistle-warp is a name for the goldfinch, so called becavise it feeds 
chiefly on the seeds of the thistle. It is called in French cliardonneret, 
from chardon, a thistle. The description given in the text of the colors of 
the bird's plumage exactly agrees with that of the goldfinch. 



THE PASSIOJS'ATE SHEPHERD. 199 

The hardness of their first life iu their last ; 

The first, iu thorns of love, that sorrows past". 

And so most beautiful their colors show, 

As none (so little) like them ; her sad brow 

A sable velvet feather covers quite, 

Even like the forehead-cloth that, in the night. 

Or when they sorrow, ladies use to wear : 

Their wings, blue, red, and yellow, mixed appear ; 

Colors that, as Ave construe colors, paint 

Their states to life; — the yellow shows their saint, 

The dainty Venus, left them ; blue, their truth ; 

The red and black, ensigns of death and ruth. 

And this true honor from their love death sprung, — 

They were the first that ever poet sung. 



THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD. 

[This charming song was originally printed (with the excep- 
tion of tlie fourth and sixth stanzas) in The Passionate Pilgrira. 
a niiscellany of poems written by different persons, although 
fraudulently ascribed on the titlepage to Shakspere. (See Shak- 
spere's Poems, An. Ed. p. 237.) llie Passionate Pilgrim was 
published in 1599, and in the following year the song, as it is 
here given, with the exception of the stanza in brackets, ap- 
peared under Marlowe's name in EnglancVs Helicon. In 1653, 
Izaak Walton reprinted it, with the additional stanza, iu his 
Complete Angler. Few compositions of this kind have enjoyed 
a wider or more enduring popularity, or suggested more remark- 
able imitations. The music to which it was sung was discovered 
by Sir John Hawkins iu a MS. of tlie age of Elizabeth, and will 
be found in Boswell's edition of Malone's Shakspere. and in 
Chappell's collection of Katiojial English Airs. Numerous 
ballads and songs were composed to the air of ''Come live with 
me, and be wry love": and there is some ground for believing 
that Marlowe's words had displaced a still earlier song, "Adieu, 
my dear," to the same tune. (See Chappell's National Songs, 
ii. 139.) Shakspere quotes TJte Passionate Shepherd in J'he 
Merry Wives of Windsor^ iii. 1, and Raleigh, Herrick, and 



200 CHJIISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

Doune have either written answers to it, or constructed poems 
on the plan of which it may be regarded as the model.* Sir 
John Hawkins, who considers the song to be "a beautiful one," 



* Raleigh's answer, from The Kymph to the Shepherd, is piiuted imme- 
diately after Marlowe's poem iu England 's Helicon. It is said that in 
tlie earliest copies the initials W. 11. were snhscrihed to the verses; but 
that the common signature, Ignoto, was afterward pasted over them, 
because, as it has been generally supposed, Raleigh did not desire to be 
known. For the full consideration of the question of authorship, see the 
llev. John Hannah's careful edition of the poems of Walton, Raleigh, and 
uthers, p. 125. The following is the answer, with an additional stanza 
from the Second Edition of the Complete Angler, interpolated, possibly by 
W:ilt()u himself. Walton's stanza is inclosed in brackets: — 

THE nymph's ItEPLY TO THE SHEPHERD. 
If all the world and love were young, 
And truth in every shepherd's tongue, 
These pi'etty pleasures might me move 
To live with thee, and be thy love. 

But time drives flocks from field to fold, 
"When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; 
And Philomel becometh dumb ; 
The rest complains of cares to come. 

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 
To waj-ward winter reckoning yields; 
A honey tongue, a heart of gall. 
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roseSj 
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies. 
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,= 
In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 

Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, 
Thy coral clasps and amber studs, — 
All these in me no means can move 
To come to thee and be thy love. 

[What should we talk of dainties, then, — 
Of better meats than's fit for men ? 
These are but vain ; that's only good 
Which God liath blest, and sent for food.] 

But could youth last, and love still breed, 
Had joys no date, nor age no need; 
Then those delights my mind might move 
To live with thee and be thv love. 



THE PASSIONATE SHEPIIERD. 2 1 

nevertheless objects to the want of truthfuhiess in its pustorui 
images. "Buckles of gold," he observes, "coral clasps, ai;cl 
amber studs, silver dishes and ivory tables, are luxurious, and 
consist not with the parsimon}" and simplicity of rural life and 
manners." This criticism would be more just if it were not 
quite so literal. Allowance should be made for the fanciful 
treatment of the subject ; nor is it at all certain that the silver 
dishes and ivor}' tables, which carry the luxuries of the Shep- 
herd's life to the last excess of inconsistency, are really charge- 
able upon Marlowe. The rest of the poem breathes the pure air 
of the country, even to the coral clasps and amber studs, which 
Sir John Hawkins takes to be veritable jewelry, but which, 
being found in association with a girdle of straw and iv^'-buds, 
were apparently intended to typif}' the blossoius of flowers. For 
a passage in one of the plays attributed to Marlowe closely i-e- 
sembling the stanza objected to by Hawkins, see Lamb's Dram. 
Spec, i. 18.] 

Still more beautiful than tliis iiigeuious reply, and pi eseutiufr a nioi-e 

expanded picture of rural delights than the original poem, is a second 

piece signed Tgnoto in England's ife?ico7i, professedly founded on ilar- 

lowe"s son^-. It is entitled Another of the same nature made since, and 

begins with the following stanza, in wliicli Marlowe's opening is r* pjo- 

dnced : — 

Come live with me, and be my dear, 

And we will revel all the year, 

In plains and groA-es, on hills and dales, 

"Where fragrant air breeds sweetest galea. 

Donne's imitation, called The Bait, also resumes Marlowe's opening. Imt 
tates the subject out of the region of Xature into that of artifices uv.d 
conceits. The following is the fiist verse:— 

Come live with me, and be my love. 

And we will some new pleasures prove 

Of golden sands, and ciystal brooks, 

With silken lines, and silver hooks. 

Herrick's poem, which has more of the true rustic natuie than any of lU- 
others, follows its model almost as closely in the opening stanza:— 

Live, live with me, and thou shalt see 

The pleasures I'll prepare for thee; 

"What sweets the country can afford 

Shall bless thy bed, and bless thy board. 



202 CHMiSTOPMEn MAllLOWR' 

Come live with me, and be my loves 
And we will all the pleasures prove 
That hills and valleys, dales and fields^ 
Woods, or steepy mountain yields. 

And we will sit upon the rocks. 
Seeing* the shepherds feed their flocka 
By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

And I will make thee beds of roses, 
And a thousand fragrant posies; 
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle ; 

A gown made of the finest wool 
Which from our pretty lambs we pull; 
Fair-lined slippers for the cold. 
With buckles of the 23urest gold. 

A belt of straw and ivy-buds. 
With coral clasps and amber studs: 
And, if these pleasures may thee move, 
Come live with me, and be my love. 

[Thy silver dishes for thy meat. 
As precious as the gods do eat. 
Shall on an ivory table be 
Prepared each day for thee and me.]* 

The shepherd-swains shall dance and sing 
For thy delight each May-morning: 
If these delights thy mind may move, 
Then live with me, and be my love. 

* This stanza is taken from the reprint of the poem in tlie Second Edition 
of "Walton's Complete Angler. From what source Walton obtained it is 
unknown. In the same way, it will be seen from the previous note, he 
supplies an additional stanza to Kaleigh's Answer. 



DIALOGUE IN VERSE. 203 

FRAGMENT.* 
I walked along* a stream, for j^ureness rare, 
Brighter tliau sunshine ; for it did acquaint 
The dullest sight with all the glorious prey 
That in the pebble-paved channel lay. 

No molten crystal, but a richer mine. 

Even Nature's rarest alchemy ran there, — 

Diamonds resolved, and substance more divine. 

Through whose bright-gliding- current might appear 

A thousand naked nymphs, whose ivory shine, 
Enameling the banks, made them more dear 
Than ever was that glorious jDalace' gate 
Where the day-shining Sun in triumph sate. 

Upon this brim the eglantine and rose, 
The tamarisk, olive, and the almond tree. 

As kind companions, in one union grows. 
Folding their twining arms, as oft we see 

Turtle-taught lovers either other close. 

Lending to dullness feeling sympathy; 
And as a costly valance o'er a bed. 
So did their garland-tops the brook o'ersj^read. 

Their leaves, that differed both in shape and show, 
Though all were green, yet difference such in green, 

Like to the checkered bent of Iris' bow, 
Prided the running main, as it had been — 



DIALOGUE IN VERSE. 

[This Dialogue was first published by Mr. Collier in his volume 
of Alleyn Papers, edited for the Shakspere Societ}-. The original 
MS., found amongst the documents of Dulwich College, was 
written in prose on one side of a sheet of paper, with the name 
"Kitt Marlowe" inscribed in a modern hand on the back. 
"What connection, if an}-, he may have had with it," says Mr. 
Collier, "it is impossible to determine, but it was obviously 

* Extracted from England 'a Parnansus, 1600. 



204 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

worth}' of preservation, as a curious stage relic of an earl}- date, 
and unlike anything else of the kind that has couie down to us." 
The words in brackets were deficient in the original, and have 
been supplied by Mr. Collier. The Dialogue was probably in- 
tended as an interlude in a play, or as an entertainment, termi- 
nating with a dance, after a pla}'. It is essentiallv dramatic in 
character; but it would be rash to speculate upon the authorship 
from the internal evidence.] 

JACK. 

Seesfc thou not yon farmer's son? 

He hath stolen my love from me, alas! 
What shall I do ? I am undone ; 

My heart will ne'er be as it was. 
Oil, but he gives her gay gold rings, 

xind tufted gloves [for] holida}', 
And many other goodly things, 

That hath stol'n my love a^vay. 

FRIEND. 

Let him give her gay gold rings 

Or tufted gloves, were they ne'er so [gay] ; 

Or were her lovers lords or kings, 

They should not carry the wench away. 

JACK. 

But a' dances wonders well, 

And with his dances stole her loye from me: 
S'et she Atont to say I bore the bell 
For dancing and for courtesy. 

DICK, 

Fie, lusty younker, what do you here, 
Not dancing on the green to-day? 

For Pierce, the farmer's son, I fear. 
Is like to carry your wench away, 

JACK. 

Good Dick, bid them all come hither. 

And tell Pierce from me beside. 
That, if he think to have the wench. 

Here he stands shall lie with the bride. 



DIALOGUE IN VERSE. 205 

DICK. 

Fie, Nan, ayIiv use thy old lover so, 

For any other newcome guest"? 
Thou long time his love did know; 

Why shouldst thou not use him best? 

NAN. 

Bonny Dick, I will not forsake 

My l3onny Rowland for any gold: 
If he can dance as well as Pierce, 

He shall have my heart in hold. 

PIERCE. 

Wli3% then, my hearts, let's to this gear; 

And by dancing I may won 
My Nan, whose love I hold so dear 

As any realm under the sun. 

GENTLEMAN. 

Then, gentles, ere I speed from hence, 

I will be so bold to dance 
A turn or two without offense : 

For, as I was walking along by chance 
I was told you did agree. 

FRIEND. 

'Tis true, good sir ; and this is she 

Hopes your worship comes not to crave her; 

For she hath lovers two or three, 

And he that dances best must have her. 

GENTLEMAN. 

How say you, sweet, w'ill yow dance with me? 
And you [shall] have both land and [hill] ; 
My love shall w^ant nor gold nor fee. 

NAN. 

I thank you, sir, for your good will, 
But one of these my love must be: 

I'm but a homely country maid, 
And far unfit for your degree; 

[To dance with you I am afraid. "1 



208 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWK 

FKIEND. 

Take her, good sir, by the hand, 

As she is fairest : were she fairer, 
By this dance, you shall understand, 
He that can win her is like to wear her. 

FOOL. 

And saw you not [my] Nan to-day. 
My mother's maid have you not seen? 

My pretty Nan is gone away 

To seek her love upon the green. 

[I can not see her 'mong so many :] 

She shall have me, if she have any. 

NAN. 

Welcome, sweetheart, and welcome here, 
Welcome, my [true] love, now to me. 

This is my love [and my darling dear], 
And that my husband [soon] must be. 

And boy, when thou com'st home, thou'lt see 

Thou art as welcome home as he. 

GENTLEMAN. 

Why, how now, sweet Nan? I hope you jest. 

NAN. 

No, by my troth, I love the fool the best: 

And, if you be jealous, God give you good-night! 

I fear you're a gelding, you caper so light. 

GENTLEMAN. 

I thought she had jested and meant but a fable. 
But now do I see she hath played with his bable. 
I wish all my friends by me to take heed. 
That a fool come not near you when you mean to 
speed. 




hOGEnr MANWOOD. ^ji 

In ohitiim honoratisshni virl, Rogeri Manwood,* 
Mllltis, Qu(£storil lleglnalls Capitalis liaroids. 

Noctivagi terroi*, ganeonis triste flagellum, 
Et Jovis Alcides, rigido viilturque latroni, 
Urna snbtegitnr. Scelerum, gaudete, nepotes! 
In soils, Inctitica sparsis cervice capillis, 
Plange! fori liimeu, venerandes gloria legis, 
Occidit: lieu, secum effoetas Aclierontis ad oras 
Multa abiit vii-tus. Pro tot yirtutibus uiii, 
Livor, parce viro ; iion audacissimus esto 
lilius ill cineres, cnjus tot millia vultus 
Mortaiium attonuit: sic cum te nuntia Ditis 
Vulueret exsanguis, feiiciter ossa quiescant, 
Famaque marmorei superet monumenta sepulcri. 

* Sir Koger Manwofxl wns a native of Saudwicli, wiiore he was born in 
1525. He went into the profession of the law, in which lie early acquired 
a hi^h reputation, and sifter haviuir been iippointed Justice of the Common 
Pleas in 1572, was made Cliief Baion of the Exchequer, with tlie dignity of 
knighthood, in 1578. Sir Koger resided at St. Stei»heu's, ne;ir Ciinterbury, 
wheie he died on the 14tli December, 1.502. lie wns buiied in the church 
of St. Stephen's, wliere there is a costly monument to bis memory, w liich 
lie caused to be erected himself. 




208 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. ■ 

THE FIRST BOOK OF LUCAN. 

TO HIS KIND AND TRI^E FRIEND, EDWARD BLUNT. 

Blunt, I purpose to be blunt with you, and, out of my dullness, 
to encounter you with a Dedication in memory of that pure ele- 
mental wit, Chr. IMarlowe, whose gliost or genius is to be seen 
walk the Church3^ard in, at the least, three or four sheets. Me= 
thinks you should presently look wild now, and grow humor- 
ously frantic upon the taste of it. Well, lest you should, let me 
tell you, this spirit was sometime a familiar of your own, Luca7i's 
First Book translated; which, in regard oi your old right in it, 
I have raised in the circle of your patronage. But stay now, 
Edward : if I mistake not, you are to accommodate yourself 
with some few instructions, touching the property of a patron, 
that 3'ou are not yet possessed of ; and to study them for 3'our 
better grace, as our gallants do fashions. First, you must be 
proud, and think you have merit enough in you, though you are 
ne'er so empty ; then, when I bring you the book, take physic, 
and keep state; assign me a time by your man to come again ; 
and, afore the day, be sure to have changed your lodging; in 
the mean time sleep little, and sweat with the invention of some 
pitiful dry jest or two, which you ma}' happen to utter, with 
some little, or not at all, marking of 3'our friends, when j'ou 
have found a place for them to come in at; or, if by chance 
something has dropped from you worth the taking up, Aveary all 
that come to you with the often repetition of it ; censure scorn- 
fully enough, and somewhat like a traveler; commend nothing, 
lest you discredit your (that which j^ou would seem to have) 
judgment. Tlieae things, if you can mold yourself to them, 
Ned, I make no question but they will not become you. One 
special virtue in our patrons of these days I have promised 
myself you shall fit excellently, which is, to give nothing; yes, 
thy love 1 will challenge as m}' peculiar object, both in this, 
and, I hope, many more succeeding offices. Farewell : I affect 
not the world should measure my thoughts to thee b}' a scale of 
tills nature : leave to think good of me wiien I fall from thee. 

Tliine in all rites of perfect friendship, 

Thomas Thorpe.* 

* Thorpe, und Blunt, to whom this dedicatiou was addressed, were both 
booksellers. 



THE FIRST BOOK OF LUCAN. 209 

Wars worse that civil on Thessalian plains, 

And outrage strangling law, and people strong. 

We sing, whose conquering swords their own breasts 

launched, 
Armies allied, the kingdom's league uprooted, 
Th' affrighted world's force bent on public spoil. 
Trumpets and drums, hke deadly, threatening other, 
Eagles alike displayed, darts answering darts. 

Komaiis. what madness, what huge lust of war, 
Kath m.ade barbarians drunk with Latin blood? 
Now Babylon, proud thi'ough our spoil, should stoop, 
'While slaughtered Crassus' ghost walks unrevenged,* 
Will ye wage ^ar, for which you shall not triumph? 
Ah me ! oh, what a world of land and sea 
Might they have won whom civil broils have slain! 
As far as Titan springs, where night dims heaven, 
Ay, to the torrid zone where midelay burns. 
And where stiff winter, whcm no spring resolv 
Fetters the Euxine Sea with chains of ice; 
Scythia and wild Armenia had been yokeel. 
And they of Nilus' mouth, if there live any. 
Rome, if thou take delight in impious war. 
First conquer all the earth, then turn thy force 
Against thyself; as yet thou want'st not foes. 
That now the walls of houses half-reared totter. 
That rampires fallen down, huge heaps of stone 
Lie in our towns, that houses are abaneloned, 
And few live that behold their ancient seats; 
Italy many years hath lien un tilled [hinds; — = 

And choked with thorns; that greedy earth wants 
Fierce Pyrrhus. neither thou nor Hannibal 
Art cause ; no foreign foe could so afflict us : 
These plagues arise from wreak of civil power. 
But if for Nero, then unborn, the Fates 
Would find no other means, and gods not slightly 
Purchase immortal thrones, nor Jove joyed heaven 
Until the cruel giants' war was done ; 

* Crassus, member of tlie first tiininvirate with Caesar and rompey. put 
to death by Surena, general of the Parthians under Orodes the king, after 
having lost 20.000 men. 



210 CBMISTOPHEE M^iRLOWE. 

We plain not. Heavens, but gladly bear these evils 

For Nero's sake : Pli;ir::^alia groan with slaughter, 

And Carthage' souls be <i;lutted with our bloods! 

At Munda* let the dreadful battles join; 

Add, Caesar, to these ills, Perusian famine,! 

The Mutin toils.l the fleet at LeucaS sunk, 

And cruel field near burning Mtw^ fought! || 

Yet liome is much bound to these civil arms, [old, 

Which made thee emperor. Thee (seeing thou, being 

Must shine a st^.r) shall heaven (whom thou lovest) 

Receive with shoats; wdiere thou wilt reign as king, 

Or mount the Sun's flame-bearing chariot, 

And with bright restless fire compass the earth, 

Undaunted though her former guide be changed ; 

Nature and every power shall give thee place, 

What god it please thee be, or w^here to swa3\ 

But neither choose the north t' erect thy seat. 

Not yet the adverse reeking southern pole, [beanis,^ 

AVhence thou shouldst view thy Rome with squinting 

If any one part of vast heaven thou swayest. 

The burdened axis with thy force will bend: 

The midst is best ; that place is pure and bright ; 

* A small town in Ilispaiiui Esetica, where Cassar defeated tlic sons of 
Poinpej'. 

t An allusion to the siege of Peinsia (now Perugia) by Augustus, wlio 

compelled L. Autonins to suireuder for want of provisions. 

J These were two battles fought at Mutiua (now Modcna) between the 

consuls Pansa and Hirtius on the one side, and Marcus Antonius on the 

other, in which the latter was defeated. 

5 An island iu the Ionian Sea near the promontorN- of Actium, where 

Augustus destroyed the fleet of Maicus Antonius. 

II Probably an allusion to a naval battle between Octavius and the sons 

of Ponipey, for in the original there is nothing about a field. Howe, though 

not generally so close as Marlowe, gives the sense here more faithfully : — 

"Though meagre fjunine in Pei'usia reign, 

Though Mutina with battle fills the jdain. 

Though Leuca's isle, and wide Ambracia's bay, 

Eecord the rage of Actium's fatal day," <&:c. 

U All the Cajsais were enrolled amongst the gods. The advice to iXero 

to choose a seat in heaven neither to the north nor south, but in the midst, 

appears to be an exhortation to impartiality between the parties of Caesar 

and Pompey, the foimer of whom gained his renown by the conquest of 

the northern, the latter of the southern, uatious. 



THE FIRST BOOK OF LUC AN. 211 

There, Caesar, mayst thou shine, and no cloud dim thee. 

Then men from war shall bide in league and ease, 

Peace through the world from Janus' fane shall fly. 

And bolt the brazen gates with bars of iron. 

Thou, Caesar, at this instant art my god : 

Thee if I invocate, I shall not need 

To crave Apollo's aid or Bacchus' help ; 

Thy power inspires the Muse that sings this war. 

The causes first I purpose to unfold 
Of these garboils,* whence springs a long discourse ; 
And what made madding people shake off peace. 
The Fates are envious, high seats quickly perish, 
Under great burdens falls are ever grievous: 
Rome was so great it could not bear itself. 
So when this world's compounded union breaks, 
Time ends, and to old Chaos all things turn. 
Confused stars shall meet, celestial fire 
Fleetf on the floods, the earth shoulder the sea. 
Affording it no shore, and Phoebe's wain 
Chase Phoebus, and enraged affect his place. 
And strive to shine by day, and full of strife 
Dissolve the engines of the broken world. 
All great things crush themselves ; such end the gods 
Allot the higlit of honor; men so strong 
By land and sea, no foreign force could ruin. 
Oh, Home, thyself art cause of all these evils. 
Thyself thus shivered out to three men's shares ! 
Dire league of partners in a kingdom hist not. 
Oh, faintly-joined friends, with ambition blind, 
Why join you force to share the world betwixt you? 
"While th' earth the sea, and air the earth sustains, 
While Titan strives against the world's swift course, 
Or Cynthia, night's queen, waits upon the day, 
Shall never faith be found in fellow kings : 
Dominion can not suffer partnership. 
This needs no foreign proof nor far-fet story : 
Rome's infant walls vrere steeped in brother's blood ; 
Nor then was land or sea, to breed such hate ; 
A town with one poor church set them at odds. 

* Turmoils. t rioat. 



212 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

Caesar's and Pompey's jarring love soon ended, 
"Twas peace against their wills; betwixt them both 
Stepped Crassus in. Even as the slender isthmus 
Betwixt the ^gaem and the Ionian sea 
Keeps each from other, but being worn away, 
Tbey both burst out, and each encounter other: 
Sj whenas Crassus' wretched death, who stayed them. 
Had filled Assyrian Carra's walls with blood, 
His loss made way for Roman outrages. 
Parthians, y'afflict us more than ye suppose ; 
Being conquered, we are plagued with civil war. 
Swords share our emjoire: Fortune, that made Rome 
Govern the earth, the sea, the worLd itself. 
Would not admit two lords ; for Julia,* 
Snatched hence by cruel Fates, with ominous howls 
Bare down to hell her son, the pledge of peace. 
And all bands of that death-presaging alliance. 
Julia, had heaven given thee longer life. 
Thou hadst restrained thy headstrong husband's rage, 
Yei, and thy father too, and, swords thrown down, 
Mide all shake hands, as once the Sabines did: 
Thy death broke amity, and trained to war 
These captains emulous of each other's glory. [dim 
Thou fear'd'st, great Pompey, that late deeds would 
Old triumphs, and that Caesar's conquering Francef 
Would dash the wreath thou war st for j^irates' wrack : 
Thee war's use stirred, and thoughts that always 
A second place. Pompey could bide no equal, [scorned 
Nor Caesar no superior: which of both 
Had justest cause, unlawful 'tis to judge" 

* The daughtei" of Julias Csesar. who married her to ronipe}' to cement 
tlieir alUaiice. Upon her death iu chihlbed, dissensions soon brohe out 
between them. 

t Gaiil is thronglmnt the poem called France, which is an obvious mis- 
take, as the latter name was not given to Ganl till it had been conqueied 
by the Franks, after the destruction of the Homan Empire. E,owe is her© 
also more accurate : — 

"The famed piratic laniel seems to fade 
Beneath successful Caesar's rising shade; 
His Gallic wreaths thou view'st with anxious eyea, 
Above thy uaval crown triuraphant viae." 



THE FinST BOOK OF LFCAN. 213 

Each side had great partakers; Csssar's cause 

The gods abetted, Cat^ liked tko ctlicr. 

Both differed much. Pompey ^^'as strook in years, 

And by long* rest forgot to manage arms, 

And, being popular, sought by liberal gifts 

To gain the light unstable ccmmons' love, 

And joyed to hear his theaters applause: 

He lived secure, boasting his former deedrj, 

And thought his name sufficient to ujohold him: 

Like to a tall oak in a fruitful field, 

Bearing old spoils and conqueror's monuments, 

'\Yho, though his root be weak, and 1 is ov.'ii weight 

Keep him within the ground, his arms all l^are, 

His body, not his boughs, send forth a shade: 

Though every blast it nod, and seem t;j fall. 

When all the woods about stand bolt upright, 

Yet he alone is held in reverence. 

Caesar's renown fer war was less; he restless. 

Shaming to strive but where he cliel eubduc ; 

When ire or hope provoked, heady, anel bold; 

At all times charging home, and making havoc; 

Urging Lis fortune, trusting in the gods, 

Destroying what withstooel his proud desires, 

And glad when blooel and ruin made him way: 

So thunder, which the wind tears from the clouds, 

"With crack of riven air and hideous sound 

Filling the worlel, leaps cut anel throws forth fire, 

Affrights poor fearful men, anel blasts their eyes 

With overthwarting flames, and raging shoots 

Alongst the air, anel, not resisting it. 

Falls, and returns, and shivers vrhere it lights. 

Such humors stirreel them up ; but this war's seeel 

W-^as even the same that wracks all great tlominions. 

When Fortune maele us lorels of all, wealth floweel, 

Anel then we grew licentious* and riiele ; 

The soldiers' prey anel rapine brought in riot ; 

Men took delight in jewels, houses, plate, 

Anel scorneel old sparing diet, anel vrare robes 

Too light for women ; Poverty, who hatcheel 

"^ Pronounced like the Freuch, as a -word of four syllables. 



214 CEMISTOPHEB MARLOWE. 

Eome's greatest wits, was loathed, and all the world 
Riiisacked for gold, which breeds the world decay; 
And then large limits had their butting lands ; 
The ground, which Curius and Camillus tilled, 
Was stretched unto the fields of hinds unknown. 
Again, this peojDle could not brook calm peace ; 
Them freedom without war might not suffice: 
Quarrels were rife ; greedy desire, still poor. 
Did vile deeds ; then 'twas worth the j)rice of blood, 
And deemed renown, to spoil their native town ; 
Force mastered right, the stougest governed all; 
Hence came it that th' edicts were overruled, 
That laws were broke, tribune with consuls strove, 
Sale made of offices, and people's voices 
Bjught by themselves and sold, and every year 
Frauds and corruption in the Field of Mars ; 
Hence interest and devouring usury sprang. 
Faith's breach, and hence came war, to most men 
Now Csesar overj^assed the snowy Alps ; [welcome, 
His mind was troubled, and he aimed at war : 
And coming to the ford of Rubicon, 
At night in dreadful vision fearful Rome 
Mourning appeared, whose hoary hairs were torn, 
And on her turret-bearing head dispersed, 
And arms all naked; who, with broken sighs. 
And staring,thus besi^oke: ''What mean'st thou, Caesar'? 
Whither goes my standard ? Romans if ye be. 
And bear ti'ue hearts, stay here ! " This spectacle 
Stroke Caesar's heart with fear; his hair stood up, 
And faintness numbed his steps there on the brink. 
He thus cried out: "Thou thunderer that guard'st 
Rome's mighty walls, built on Tarpeian rock! 
Yq gods of Phrygia and lulus' line, 
Quirinrs' rites, and Latian Jove advanced 
On Alba hill! Oh, vestal flames! Oh, Rome, 
My thought's sole goddess, aid mine enterprise ! 
I bate thee not, to thee my conquests stoop: 
Caesar is thine, so please it thee, thy soldier. 
He, he afflicts Rome that made me Rome's foe." 
This said, he, laying aside all lets of war, 



THE FIRST BOOK. OF LUCAN. 215 

Approached the swelling stream with drum and en- 
Like to a Hon of scorched desert Afric, [sign : 
Who. seeing hunters, pauseth till fell wrath 
And kingly rage increase, then having whisked 
His tail athwart his back, an.d crest heaved up, 
With jaws wide-open ghastly roaring out, 
Albeit the Moor's light javelin or his spear 
Sticks in his side, yet runs upon the hunter. 

In summertime the purple Eubicon, 
Which issues from a small spring, is but shallow. 
And creeps along the vales, dividing just 
The bounds of Italy from Cisalpine France. 
But now the winter's wrath, and watery moon 
Being three days old, enforced the flood to swell, 
And frozen Alps thawed with resolving winds. 
The thunder-hoofed horse, in a crooked line, 
To 'scape the violence of the stream, first waded ; 
Which being broke, the foot had easy passage. 
As soon as Ceesar got unto the bank 
And bounds of Italy, ''Here, here," saith he, 
"An end of peace; here end polluted laws! 
Hence, leagues and covenants! Fortune, thee I follow! 
War and the Destinies shall try my cause." 
This said, the restless general through the dark. 
Swifter than bullets thrown from Spanish shngs, 
Or darts which Parthians backward shoot, marched on ; 
And then, when Lucifer did shine alone. 
And some dim stars, he Ariminum entered. 
Day rose, and viewed these tumults of the war : 
Whether the gods or blustering south were cause 
I know not, but the cloudy air did frown. 
The soldiers having won the market-place, 
There spread the colors, with confused noise^ 
Of trumpet's clang, shrill cornets, whistling fifes. 
The people started ; young men left their beds, 
And snatched arms near their household gods hung up, 
Such as peace vields; wormeaten leathern targets. 
Throuo-h which the wood peered, headless darts, old 
With uo-lv teeth of black rust foully scarred, [swords 
But seeing white eagles, and Eome's flags well known, 



216 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWM. 

And lofty Caesar in the thickest throng, 

They shook for fsar, and cold benumbed their limbs, 

And muttering much, thus to themselves complainodr 

" Oh walls unfortunate, too near to France ! 

Predestinate to ruin! All lands else 

Have stable peace: here war's rage first begins; 

We bide the first brunt. Saf 3r might we dwell 

Under the frosty baar, or parching east. 

Waggons or tents, than in this frontier town. 

We first sustainsd the uproars of the Gauls 

And furious Cimbrians, and of Carthage Moors: 

As oft as Rome was sacked, here 'giin the spoil." 

Thus sighing wdiisperad they, and none durst speak, 

And show their fear or grief: but as the fields 

When birds are silent thorough winter's rage, 

Or sea far from the land, so all were v»^hist. 

Now light had quite dissolved the misty night, 

And Caesar's mind unsettled musing stood; 

But gods and fortune pricked him to this war, 

Infringing all excuse of modest shame, 

And laboring to approve his quarrel good. 

The angry senate, urging Gracchus' deeds. 

From doubtful Rjme wrongly expelled the tribunes 

That crossed them: both which now approached the 

And with them Curio, sometime tribune too, [camp, 

One that was fee'd for Caesar, and whose tongue 

Could tune the people to the nobles' mind. 

"Caesar," said he, "while eloquence prevailed, 

And I might j^l^ad, and draw the commons' minds 

To favor thee, against the senate's will, 

Five years I lengthened thy command in France; 

But law being put to silence by the wars, 

We, from our houses driven, most willingly 

Suffered exile: let thy sword bring us home. 

Now, while their part is weak and fears, march hence: 

Where men are ready, lingering ever hurts. 

In ten years Avonn'st thou France: Rome may be won 

With far less toil, and yet the honor's more ; 

Few battles fought with prosperous success 

May bring her down, and with her all the world. 



THE FIRST BOOK OF LXTCAN. 217 

Nor shalt tlion triumph when thou com'st to Rome, 

Nor Capitol be ndoriied ^vilh sacred bays; 

Envy denies all ; with thy blood must thou 

Aby thy conquest p-ast: the son decrees 

To expel the fether: share the world thou canst not: 

Enjoy it all thou mayst." Thus Curio spake; 

And therewith Caesar, prone enough to war, 

Was so incensed as are Eleus' steeds 

"With clamors, who, though locked and chained in stalls, 

Souse down the wal-S, and make a passage forth. 

Straight summoned he his several cc mpanies 

Unto the J^tandard: his grave look appeased 

The wrestling tumult, and right hand made silence; 

And thus he spake: ''You that with me have borne 

A thousand brunts, and tried me full ten years, 

See hov>' they quit cur bloodshed in the north. 

Our friends' death, and our wounds, our wintering 

Under the Alps! Rome rageth now in arms 

As if the Carthage Plannibal were near: 

Cornets of horse are mustered for the field ; 

Woods turned to ships; both land and sea against us. 

Plad foreign wars ill-thrived, or wrathful France 

Pursued us hither, how were we bested, 

When, coming conqueror, Rome afflicts me thus? 

Let come their leader whom long peace hath quailed, 

Raw soldiers lately pressed, and troops of gowns, 

Brabbling Marcellus, Cato whom fools reverence! 

Must Pompey's followers, with strangers' aid [king? 

(Whom from his youth he bribed), needs make him 

And shall he triumph long before his time, 

And, having once got head, still shall he reign? 

What should I talk of men's corn reaped hj force. 

And by him kept of purpose for a dearth? 

Who sees not war sit by the quivering judge 

An 1 sentence given in rings of naked swords. 

And laws assailed, and armed men in the senate? 

'Twas his troop hemmed in Milo* being accused : 

And now, lest age might wane his state, he casts 

* A cainli(l;ite for the consulship, hmiisht-il for the murder of Clodius, 
tribuue of the people. 



218 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

For civil war, wherein tbrougli use he's known 
To exceed his master, that arch-traitor Sylla. 
As brood of barbarous tigers, having lapped 
The blood of many a herd, whilst with their dams 
The kenneled in Hyrcania, evermore 
Will rage and prey : so Pompey, thou, having licked 
Warm gore from Sylla's sword, art yet athirst : 
Jaws fleshed with blood continue murderous. 
Speak, when shall this thy long usurped power end? 
What end of mischief? Sylla teaching thee. 
At last learn, wretch, to leave thy monarchy! 
What, now Sicilian pirates are suppressed, 
And jaded king of Pontus poisoned slain, 
Must Pompey as his last foe plume on me, 
Because at his command I wound not up 
My conquering eagles'? Say I merit nought, 
Yet, for long service done, reward these men. 
And so they triumph, be't with whom ye will. 
Whither now shall these old bloodless souls repair? 
Wliat seats for their deserts? What store of ground 
For servitors to till? What colonies 
To rest their bones? Say, Pompey, are these worse 
Than pirates of Sicilia? They had houses, [conquered! 
Spread, spread these flags that ten years' space have 
Let's use our tired force: they that now thwart right, 
In wars will yield to wrong : the gods are with us ; 
Neither spoil nor kingdom seek we by these arms, 
But Rome, -at thraldom's feet, to rid from tyrants." 
'This spoke, none answered, but a murmuring buzz 
Til' unstable people made: their household gods 
And love to R )me (though slaughter steeled their hearts, 
And minds were prone) restrained them ; but war's love 
And Caesar's awe dashed all. Then Lselius, 
The chief centurion, crowned with oaken leaves 
For saving of a Roman citizen, 

Stepped forth, and cried: "Chief leader of Rome's force, 
S J be, I may be bold to speak a truth, 
We grieve at this tliy patience and delay. 
What,doubt'st thou us ? Even now when youthful blood 
Pricks forth our lively bodies, and strong arms 



TEE FIRST BOOK OF LUC AN. 219 

Can mainly throw the dart, wilt thou endure 

These purple grooms, that senate's tyranny? 

Is conquest got by civil war so heinous? 

Well, lead us, then, to Syrtes' desert shore, 

Or Scythia, or hot Libya's thirsty sands. 

This hand, that all behind us might be quailed, 

Hath with thee passed the swelling ocean. 

And swept the foaming breast of Arctic Rhene, 

Love overrules my will ; I must obey thee, 

Csesar : he whom I hear thy trumpets charge, 

I hold no Roman ; by these ten blest ensigns 

And all thy several triumphs, shouldst thou bid me 

Entomb my sword within my brother's bowels, 

Or father's throat, or women's groaning womb, 

This hand, albeit unwilling, should perform it; 

Or rob the gods, or sacred temples fire. 

These troops should soon pull down the church of Jove; 

If to encamp on Tuscan Tiber's streams, 

I'll boldly quarter out the fields of Eome : 

What walls thou wilt be leveled to the ground, 

These hands shall thrust the ram, and make them fiy, 

Albeit the city thou w^ouldst have so razed 

Be Rome itself" Here every band applauded. 

And, with their hands held up, all jointly cried 

They'll follow where he please. The shouts rent 

As when against pine-bearing Ossa's rocks [heaven, 

Beats Thracian Boreas, or when trees, bowed down 

And rustling, swing up as the wind fets breath. 

When Csesar saw his army prone to war, 

And Fates so bent, lest sloth and long delay 

Might cross him, he withdrew his troops from Frrince. 

And in all quarters musters men for Rome. 

They by Lemannus' nook forsook their tents ; 

They whom the Lingones foiled with painted spears, 

Under the rocks by crooked Vogesus ; 

And many came from shallow Isara, 

Who, running long, falls in a greater flood. 

And, ere he sees the sea, loseth his name ; 

The yellow Ruthens left their garrisons; 

Mild Atax glad it bears not Roman boats, 



220 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

And frontier Varus that the camp is far, 
Sent aid: so did Alcides' j)ort, whose seas 
Eat hollow rocks, and where the northwest wind 
Nor zephyr rules not, but the north alone 
Turmoils the coast, and enterance forbids ; 
And others came from that uncertain shore 
Which is nor sea nor land, but ofttimes both, 
And changeth as the ocean ebbs and flows; 
Whether the sea rolled alwaj'-s from that jDoint 
Whence the wind blows, still forced to and fro ; 
Or that the wandering main follow the moon ; 
Or flaming Titan, feeding on the deep. 
Pulls them aloft, and makes the surge kiss heaven 5 
Philosophers, look you ; for unto me. 
Thou cause, whate'er thou be whom God assigns 
This great effect, art hid. They came that dwell 
By Nemes' fields and banks of Satirus, 
Where Tarbell's winding shores embrace the sea ; 
The Santons that rejoice in Caesar's love; 
Those of Bituriges, and light Axon pikes ; 
And they of Ehene and Leuca, cunning darters, 
And Sequana that well could manage steeds ; 
The Belgians apt to govern British cars ; 
Th' Averni too, which boldly feign themselves 
The Romans' brethren, sprung of Ilian race; 
The stubborn Nervians stained with Cotta's blood; 
And Vangions who, like those of Sarmata, 
Wear open slops; and fierce Batavians, 
Whom trumpet's clang incites; and those that dwxll 
By Cinga's stream, and where swift Rhodanus 
^^ Drives Araris to sea; they near the hills, 
' Under whose hoary rocks Gehenna hangs ; 
And, Trevier, thou being glad that wars are past thee ; 
And you, late-shorn Ligurians, who were wont 
In large-spread hair to exceed the rest of France ; 
And where to Hesus and fell Mercury 
They offer human flesh, and where Jove seems 
Bloody like Dian, whom the Scythians serve. 
And you, French Bardi, whose immortal pens 
Renown the valiant souls slain in your wars, 



THE FinST BOOK OF LUC AN. 221 

Sit s.iie ufc liome and cljiUit sweet })ocsy. 

And, Dniides, yow now in ptace renew 

Your barbarous customs and sinister rites: 

In unfelled woods aud sacred groves you dwell; 

And only gods and beavenl}^ powers jou know, 

Or onl}^ know you nothing; for you hold 

That souls pass not to silent Erebus 

Or Plutos bloodless kingdom, but elsewhere 

Resume a body; so (if truth you sing) 

Death brino-s long life. Doubtless these northern men. 

Whom death, the greatest of all fears, affright not, 

Are blest by such s;Y\'Get error; this makes them 

Run on the sword's point, and desire to die, 

And shame to spare life w^hich being lost is won. 

You likewise that repulsed the Cayc foe, 

March toward Rome ; and you, fierce men of Rhene, 

Leaving your country open to the spoil. 

These being come, their huge power made him bold 

To manage greater deeds; the bordering towns 

He garrisoned ; and Italy he filled with soldiers. 

Vain fame increased true fear, and did invade 

The j^eople's minels, anel laiel before their eyes 

Slaughter to come, and swiftly bringing news 

Of present war, maele niany lies and tales: 

One swears his troops of daring horsemen fought 

Upon Mevania's plain, where bulls are grazed; 

Other that Csesar's barbarous bands were spread 

Along Nar flood that into Tiber falls. 

And that his own ten ensigns and the rest 

Marched not entirely, an el \ii hiel the grounel: 

Anel that he's much changeel, looking wilel anel big, 

And far more barbarous than the French, his vassals ; 

Anel that he lags beliinel with them, of purpose, 

Born'twixt the Alps anel Rhene, which he hath brought 

From out their northern parts, anel that Rome, 

He looking on, by these men shouLl be sackeel. 

Thus in his fright elid each man strengthen fame, 

And, without grounel. feared what themselves hael 

Nor were the commons only strook to heart [feigned 

With this vain terror ; but the court, the senate, 



22ii amis TOP HE U M All LOWE, 

The fathers selves leaped from their seats, and, flying, 

Left hateful war decreed to both the consuls. 

Then, with their fear and danger all-distract. 

Their sway of flight carries the heady rout. 

That in chained troojos break forth at every port : 

You would have thought their houses had been tired. 

Or, dropping-ripe, ready to fall with ruin. 

8 J rushed the inconsiderate multitude 

Thorough the city, hurried headlong on. 

As if the onlj^ hope that did remain 

To their afflictions were t' abandon Rome. 

Look, how, when stormy Auster from the breach 

Of Libyan Sj^tes rolls a monstrous wave, 

Which makes the mainsail fall with hideous sound, 

The pilot from the helm leaps in the sea, 

And mariners, albeit the keel be sound, 

Shipwreck themselves ; even so, the city left, 

All rise in arms ; nor could the bedrid j^arents 

Keep back their sons, or women's tears their husbands: 

They stayed not either to pray or sacrifice ; 

Their household gods restrain them not ; none lingered, 

As loth to leave Rome whom they held so dear: 

Th' irrevocable people fly in troops. 

Oh, gods, that easy grant men great estates, 

But hardly grace to keep them! Rome, that flows 

With citizens and captives, and would hold 

The world, were it together, is by cowards 

Left as a i^rey, now Csesar doth approach. 

When Romans are besieged by foreign foes, 

With slender trench they escape night-stratagems, 

And sudden rampire raised of turf snatched up, 

Would make them sleejD securely in their tents. 

Thou, Rome, at name of war runn'st from thyself, 

And wilt not trust thy city- walls one night; 

Well might these fear, when Pompey feared and fled. 

Now, evermore, lest some one hope might ease 

The commons' jangling minds, apj^arent signs arose. 

Strange sights appeared; the angry threatening gods 

Filled both the earth and seas with prodigies. 

(rreat store of strange and unknown stars were seen 



THE FIIIST BOOK OF LUCAN. 223 

Wandering about the north, and rings of lire 

Fly in the air, and dreadful bearded stars, 

And comets that presage the fail of kingdoms ; 

The flattering sky glittered in often flames, 

And sundry fiery meteors blazed in heaven, 

Now spear-like long, now like a spreading torch ; 

Lio-htning in silence st-jle forth -without clouds, 

And, from the northern climate snatching fire, 

Blasted the Capitol ; the lesser stars, 

Which wont to run their course through empty night, 

At noonday mustered ; Phoebe, having filled 

Her meeting horns to match her brother's light, 

Strook with th' earth's sudden shadow, waxed pale; 

Titan himself, throned in the midst of heaven. 

His burning chariot plunged in sable clouds, 

And whelmed the ^Yorld in darkness, making men 

Despair of day ; as did Thyestes' town, 

Mycenffi, Phoebus flying through the east. 

Fierce Mulciber unbarred Etna's gate. 

Which flamed not on high, but headlong pitched 

Pier burning head on bending Hespery. 

Coal-black Charybdis whirled a sea of blood. 

Fierce mastives howded. The vestal firts went out; 

The flame in Alba, consecrate to Jove, 

Parted in twain, and with a double point 

Pose, like the Theban brothers' funeral fire. 

Tlie earth went off her hinges ; and the Alps 

Shook the old snow from off their trembling laps. 

The ocean swelled as high as Spanish Calpe 

Or Atlas' head. Their saints and household gods 

Sweat tears, to show the travails of their city : 

Crowns fell from holy statues. Ominous birds 

P)efiled the day; and wild beasts were seen. 

Leaving the woods, lodge in the streets of Rome. 

Cattle were seen that muttered human ^x^eech ; 

Prodigious births with more and ugly joints 

Than Nature gives, whose sight appals the mother; 

And dismal prophecies were spread abroad: 

And thev whom fierce Bellona's fury moves 

To wound their arms, sing vengeance; Cybel's priests^ 



224 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

Garliiig- their bloody locks, howl dreadful things, 

S>uls quiet and app3"is9d sighed from thei.- graves^ 

Clashing of arms was heard; in untrod w^ads 

Shrill voices schright;* and ghosts enc3unt r men. 

Those that inhabited the suburb-fields 

Fled: foul Erinnys st:ilk3d about the walls. 

Shaking her snaky hair and crooked pine 

With flaming top ; much like that hellish fiend 

Which mide the stern Lycurgus wound his thigh, 

Or fierce Agave mad; or like Megsera 

That sacred Alcides, when by Juno's tisk 

He had before looked Pluto in the face. 

Trumpets were heard to sound; and with what noise 

An armed battle joins, such and more strange 

Black night brought forth in secret. Svlb.'s ghost 

Was seen to walk, singing sad oracles; 

And Marius' head above cjld Tav'ron peering. 

His grave broke open, did affright the boors. 

To these ostents, as their old custc m was, 

They call th' Etrurian augurs: amongst whom 

The gra^vest, Arruns, dwelt in forsaken Luca, 

Well-skilled in pyromancy; one that knew 

The hearts of beasts, and flight of wandering fowls. 

First he commands such monsters Nature hatched 

Against her kind, the barren mules' loathed issue, 

To be cut forth and cast in dismal fires; 

Then, that the trembling citizens should walk 

Ab::)ut the city; then, the sicred priests 

Tliat with divine lustration purged the walls. 

And went the round, in and without the town ; 

Next, an inferior troop, in tucked-up vestures. 

After the Gabine manner; then, the nuns 

xind their veiled matron, who alone might view 

Minerva's statue; tlien, they that keep and read 

Sibylla's secret \vorks, and wash their saint 

In Almo's flood; next, learned augurs follow; 

Apollo's soothsavers, and Jove's feasting priests ; 

The skiio nni>- Salii with shields like wedges; 



i. ^ 



■Sclnii;lit,, or shri^bt, is the past tense of schrichcu, or sbrichen, toshiick. 



THE FIRST BOOK OF LVGAN. 225 

And ITlamens last, with network woolen veils. 

"Wliilo these thus in and out had circled Rome, 

Look what the lightning blasted, Arruns takes, 

And it inters with murmurs dolorous, 

And calls the place Bidental. On the altar 

Ho lays a ne'er 3-oked bull, and pours down wine, 

Then crams salt leaven on his crooked knife: 

The beast long struggled, as being like to prove 

An awkward sacrifice; but by the horns 

The quick priest pulled him on his knees, and slew him: 

No vein sprung out. but from the yawning gash 

Instead of red blood, wallowed venomous gore. 

These direful signs made Arruns stand amazed, 

And searching farther for the god's displeasure, 

The very color scared him; a dead blackness 

Ran through the blood, that turned it all to jelly. 

And stained the bowels with dark loathsome spots ; 

The liver swelled with filth ; and every vein 

Lid threaten horror from the host of Caesar; 

A small thin skin contained the vital parts ; 

The heart stirred not; and from the gaj^ing liver 

Squeezed matter through the caul ; the entrails peered ; 

And which (ah me!) ever pretendeth ill, 

At that bunch where the liver is, apj^eared 

A knob of flesh, whereof one half did look 

Dead and discolored, the other lean and thin. 

By these he seeing what mischiefs must ensue. 

Cried out, '"Oh, gods, I tremble to unfold 

What you intend! Great Jove is now disj^leased; 

And in the breast of this slain bull are crept 

Th' infernal powers. My fear transcends my words ; 

Yet more will happen than I can unfold: 

Turn all to good, be augury vain, and Tages, 

Th' art's master, false ! "' Thus, in ambiguous terms 

Involving all, did Arruns darkly sing. 

But Figulus. more seen in heavenly mysteries, 

Whose like .Egyptian Memphis never had 

For skill in stars and tuneful planeting, 

In this sort spake : '' The world's swift course is lawless 

And casual ; all the stars at random range ; 



22G CIIPcTSrornER MARLOWE: 

Or if Fate rule them, Rome, thy citizens 

Are neir some plague. Wiiat mischief shall ensue? 

Shall towns be swallowed? Shall the thickenea air 

Become intemperate? Shall the earth be barren? 

Shall water b3 congealed and turned to ice? 

Oh, gods, what death prepare ye? With what plague 

Mean ye to rage? Tlie death of many men 

Meets in one period. If cold noisome Saturn 

V/ere now exalted, and vv^th blue beams sinned, 

Then Ganymede would renew Deucalion's flood, 

And in the fleeting S3i the earth be drenched. 

Oh, Phoebus, sliouldst thou with thy rage now singe 

The fell Nemtean beast, th' earth would be fired, 

And heaven tormented with thy chafing heat: 

But thy fires liurt not. Mars, 'tis thou inflam'st 

The threatening Scorpion with the burning tail, 

And fir'st his cleyes*: why art t'nou thus enraged? 

Kind Jupiter hath low declined himself; 

Venus is faint; swift Hermes retrograde; 

Mars only rules the heaven. Why do the planets 

Alter their course, and vainly dim their virtue? 

Sword-girt Orion's side glisters too bright: 

War's rage draws near; and to the sword's strong hand 

Let all laws yield, sin bear the name of virtue: 

Many a year these furious broils let last : 

Why should we wish the gods should ever end them? 

War only gives us peace. Oh, Rome, continue 

Tli3 course of mischief, and stretch out the date 

Of slaughter! Only civil broils make peace." 

These sad presages were enough to scare 

The quivering Romans ; but worse things affright them. 

As M?enas full of wine on Piudus raves, 

So runs a matron through th' amazed streets. 

Disclosing Phoebus' fury in this sort : 

'• Paean, whither am I haled? W^here shall I fall, 

Thus borne aloft? I see Pangseus' hill 

Yv^ith hoary top, and, under Hseraus' mount, 

Pliilippi plains. Phoebus, what rage is this ? 

* Clawa. 



The FinsT book of lug ait. 



227 



Why grapples Rome, and mnkes war, having no foes? 

Whithe]' turn I now ? Thou It ad'st me toward tli' east, 

Where Nile augmenteth the Pelusian sea: 

This headless trunk* that lies on Nilus' sand 

I know. Now throughout the air I fly 

To doubtful Syrtes and dry Afric, where 

A Fury leads the Emathian bands. From thence 

To the pine-bearing hills: thence to the mounts 

Pyrene ; and so back to Rome again. 

See, impious war defiles the senate-house! 

New factions rise. Now through the world again 

I go. Oh, Phoebus, show me Neptune's shore, 

And other regions! I have seen Philippi." 

This said, being tired with fury, she sunk down. 

* The body ol'Pompeiu.s, murdered hy order oi' Ptolemy llie king, 




BEN JONSON. 

1573—1637. 



The family of Jouson, or Johuson, appear to t'3V£- been origin- 
ally settled at Annandale, in Scotland, from "V/ijeace they re- 
moved to Carlisle, in the reign of Henry VIII. The first member 
of the family of whom any notice has been preserved was in tiie 
service of the king, and, as may be inferred from subsequent 
circumstances, embraced the Protestant faith. Nothing more is 
known of him, except that lie possessed an estate, which de- 
scended to his son, the father of the poet. The religious per- 
secutions which foUow^ed the accession of Queen Mar}- fell heavily 
on this gentleman, who was thrown into prison, and deprived of 
his estate. At a later period he entered the Church, and for the 
rest of his life exercised the functions of a minister of the Gospel. 
He died in 1573. 

A month afterwards Ben Jonson was born in Westu'iinster. 
Fuller in vain endeavored to ascertain the exact locality of his 
bi'th, but traced him, while he was yet "a little child," to 
"Hartshorn Lane, near Charing Cross, where," he adds, "his 
mother married a bricklayer for her second husband." Malone 
conchides, from an entry in the registry of St. Martin's chm-ch, 
that this second union took place in November 1575, when a Mrs. 
Margaret Jonson was married to Mr. Thomas Fowler ; and Gifford, 
convinced "that the person here named was unquestionably the 
poet's mother," fuses Fuller's statement into Malone's specula- 
tion, and describes Mr. Fowler (whom he erroneously calls Jon- 
son's father-in-law) as a master bricklayer. Later researches have 
shown that there is no foundation for any of these assumptions. 
Jonson's mother was certainly living in 1604 or 1605 : and the 
Mrs. Margaret Fowler supposed by Malone to be his mother was 
buried in St. Martin's church, on the 2nd of April, 1590. Mr. 
Thomas Fowler died in 1595, and the inscription upon his tomb 



230 BEN J0N80N. 

in the old cliurcli sets forth that he survived liis three wives, 
Ellen, Margaret, and Elizabeth ; it also inforn:s us that he was 
comptroller and payn.iaster of the works under Queen Mary, and 
for the first ten years of Queen Elizabeth. It is clear, therefore, 
that as this gentleman outlived all his wives, he could not have 
been married to a lady who was undoubtedly alive some nine or 
ten years after his death. 

The statement that Jonson's mother married again, and tliat 
her second husband was a bricklayer, rests mainly on the au- 
thority of Fuller; but who the bricklayer was, remains yet to be 
ascertained. 

Jonson was first sent to a parish school in St. Martin's, and 
afterw-ards placed at Westminster by the friendship of Camden, 
at that time iiolding tlie appointment of second master. The ob- 
ligation was never forgotten by the poet, who retained to the end 
of his life the most affectionate regard for his early benefactor 
and instructor. 

Drummond tells us that Jonson was taken from school, and 
"put to one other craft, I think [it] was to be a wright or a 
bricklayer." There can be no doubt that the "craft" was that 
of a bricklayer. The fact was current amongst Jonson's contem- 
poraries; and Fuller says that "he helped in the structure of 
Lincoln's Inn, when, having a trowel in his hand, he had a book 
in his pocket." Fuller and Aubrey state that he was afterwards 
sent to Cambridge ; but they differ in the order of circumstances, 
and in the name of the college. Jonson makes no reference to 
Cambridge in his comuuinications to Drummond; and he would 
scarcely have onutted so conspicuous a circumstance if it had 
occurred. On the contrary, according to his own relation, there 
was no interval between his schooling and his first step in life, 
when it was possible he could have gone to the University. The 
story about Cambridge is still further discredited by the silence 
of the University Register. No such name occurs on the books. 

Jonson did not continue to work long at his stepfather's busi- 
ness; and the aversion with which he regarded it led him to 
avail hiniself of the earliest o]iportunity of embracing a more 
congenial occupation. The army, then serving in Flanders, pre- 
sented the only accessible opening; and he entered it as a volun- 
teer. During the short period he served with the troops he dis- 



BEN JONSON. 231 

t.u^uislicd himself by his gallantly, on one occasion killing an 
enemy in single combat, and carrying off the spoils, in the pres- 
ence of the two hostile camps. But his true genius lay in 
another direction ; a;'.d. yearning for the pursuits to which 
Camden had eany trained his ambition, he soon returned to 
England. 

Without friends or resources, only two alternatives lay before 
hi.n, from which there was a hope of extracting a subsistence ; 
either to return to the craft which he had not long before fled 
from in disgust, or to try his fortune in literature through the 
then profitable channel of the stage. Hi? choice was speedily 
made. 

Tiie circumstances under which he became connected with the 
tiieaters are involved in obscurity. All that can be collected from 
the satires of Dekkei' and the statements of Wood and Aubrey is 
that tie obtained liis first engagement at the Curtain in Shoreditch, 
Avhure he seems to have been employed in the double capacity of 
player and dramatist. 

No trace remains of the literary labors in which he was thus 
engaged; and for an interval of several years, the o:ily incident 
Avhich can be stated with certainly, is that he increased the di^- 
c-.ilties of his struggle by taking a wife. The exact date of his 
marriage is matter of conjecture. Tiiere is so:ne ground for snp- 
po-iiig tliat it took place about 1592. 

Tiie first authentic notice we have of Jonson after tiiis event 
occurs in Henslowe's Diary, where the manager, under the date 
of the 23ih Jul}'-, 1597, acknowledges the receipt of 33 9d as part 
of "Bengemeues Johnsone's share;" which implies that by this 
time Jonson had become a sharer in Henslowe's company at the 
Rose on the Bank-side. It appears by another entry in a diflei'c^r.t 
part of the Diary that on the same da}^ Ilenslowe lent hi;n fc ;r 
pounds: and 0!i tlie 3rd of December following there is a r.ie;.;o- 
rundum of 20s ''lent unto Bengemen Johnsone upon a ])ook wbic'.) 
he was to write for us before Christn^as next after the date here- 
of, which he sliowed the plot unto the company." Tii.ese facts, 
although barren enough in other respects, show that he had ac- 
quired some reputation by his productions, and was already 
established as a writer in the employment of Henslowe. 

From the Rose we follow him to tlie Globe, where we find him 



232 BEN JONSON. 

for the first time associated witli Sliakspere. The story that runs 
through all the biographies respecting the circumstances under 
which their acquaintance was formed is honorable to both. Jon- 
son is said to have placed his play for perusal in the hands of a 
member of the companj'-, who, looking over it carefully, was 
about to return it to the author, when Shakspere, being struck by 
some particular passage, read the piece himself, and recommended 
it to the theater. 

This fortunate play was Every Man in his Humor. It was 
cast with the whole strength of the compnny. Shakspere vindi- 
cated his opinion of its merits by playing in it him.self; and 
amongst the other actors were Burbage,Condell, Slye, aiid Kempe. 
Its reception encouraged Jonson, and he followed up his success 
by taking a different view of the comic side of humanity, under 
the contrasted title of Every Man out of Ms Humor. 

About this time an incident occured to him which ver}' nearly 
brought liis life to a close at the moment when his prospects were 
beginning to brigliten. This circumstance is thus related by 
Drummond: "Since his coming to England, being appealed to 
the fields, he had killed his adversary, who hurt him, in the arm, 
and Avhose sword Avas ten inches longer than his; for the which 
lie was imprisoned, and almost at the gallows." AVho the person 
was that Jonson had thus killed in a duel, long remained a sub- 
ject of speculation, but was at last ascertained from the following 
passage in one of Henslowe's letters to Alley ne: "Since you 
Avere with me I hav^e lost one of my company which hr.rteth ir.e 
greatly, that is Gabriel, for he is slain in Hoxton Fields by the 
liands of Benjamin Jonson, bricklayer."* The date of this letter, 
26th Sept. 1598, fixes the period of the duel, which must have 
taken place only a few days before, as the slain man was buried 
on the 24th of September, in the churchyard of St. Leonard's, 
Shoreditch. The register of the parish states that he was killed, 
but does not mention his antagonist. t The name of the actor 
was Gabriel Spencer, here called Gabriel, according to the fa- 
miliar usage of the players. He seems to have occupied an in- 
ferior position in the tlieater. 

This unfortunate catastrophe made a deep impression on Jon- 

* Memoirs of Edward Alley ne. ]>. 51. 
t M^moiris of Actors in the Flays of Shakspere, p. xxiL 



son's riiind. He was tlirowii into prison on a charge of murder, 
and, as lie informed Druinniond, had a narrow escape of being 
hanged. We may presume from his acquittal, that the chief 
hlanie of the transaction la}' upon Spencer, who was the chal- 
lenger, and who acted dishonorably in the combat by fighting 
with a sword ten inches longer than tliat of his adversary. Jon- 
son tacitly confesses that up to this time lie had no settled faith; 
aad the circumstances in which he was placed, wounded, and 
lying in prison, with an ignominious deatli impending over liim, 
were sufficiently admonitory to give a serious direction to his 
thoughts. At this favoral)le juncture he was visited by a priest, 
and the poet, as he himself tells us, taking his religion upon trust, 
turned Catholic. For twelve years he continued in that com- 
munion ; and then, publicly renouncing it, returned to the Church 
of England. 

Tl)at his recent successes awakened some jealousy on the part 
of tlie actors at the Rose seem.s extremely probable; and, per- 
haps, out of these feelings arose the dispute with Spencer. How- 
ever that may be, the dramatists who still remained in the pay 
of Henslowe, especially Marston and Dekker, now began to re- 
gard his growing popularit}' with envy, and to depreciate his 
merits in a variety of ways. Queen Elizabeth had attended one 
of the representations of Every Man out of Ms Humor, and the 
obscure playwright and indifferent actor of the Curtain was al- 
ready distinguished by the notice of the most eminent people in 
the k'ugdom. This sudden acquisition of fame provoked the 
hostility of the writers whom he had so rapidly distanced; and 
the feelings thus engendered on both sides soon broke out into an 
o^Von feud, not ver}' creditable to the good taste either of Jonson 
or his literar}^ rivals. 

In 1600 he produced Cynthia's Revels, acted before the Court 
by the children of the Royal Chapel. He had already, in Every 
Man out of his Humor, given great offense by the arrogant and 
magisterial tone he adopted toward contemporary authors : and 
the offense was deepened by the scathing ridicule with which, in 
Cynthia's Revels, he exposed tlie reigning vices and fopperies. 
Dekkar and the rest who felt themselves aggrieved prepared to 
take their revenge. Jonson, warned of their intention, antici- 
pated them in the Poetaster^ acted at the Blackfriars in 1601, 



234 BEN JOJ^SOj^. 

This piece transcended all previous exa:nple in the violence ar.d 
boldness of its satire, and Avas at once prohibited by authority. 
The advantage \v[is now on the side of Dekker, ^vho, in the fol- 
lowing year, produced his Satiromastix, into whicli he introduced 
all the known incidents of Jonson's origin and histor}-, and car- 
ried the war of abuse to the last extremit}-. Tliese unworthy 
contentions sometimes degenerated into personal quarrels; and 
Jonson told Drummond that on one occasion he beat Marston, 
and took his pistol from him ; an exploit celebrated in one of his 
epigrams.* Tiieir differences, however, entailed no lasting en- 
mity. Tlie belligerent poets were soon afterwards reconciled, 
and wrote plays together; and in 1604, as a public testimony of 
their friendship, Marston dedicated The Malcontent to Jonson. 
Even Dekker was ultimately admitted to a sort of armed truce. 

Jonson's first tragedy was Richard CrookbackA for which, with 
certain additions to Kyd's Jeronimo, he received an advance of 
10^. from Hensiowe in June 1602. This piece has perislied with 
manv otliers. It was probably acted at the Fortune. Sejanus, 
MTitten in conjunction with another hand, J followed in 1603 ; but 
met so violent an opposition that it was withdrawn. Jonson sub- 
sequenth' omitted the scenes supplied by his colleague, substitut- 
ing others of his own, and reproduced the pla}'' with success. 

At the accesion of James I., most of the Elizabethan dran-.at- 
ists still held possession of the theater, and the literature of the 
stage was further enriched b}' the contributions of Beaumont and 
Fletcher. Jonson's position amongst them was peculiar. He 
had been less fortunate than many of them in his productions. 
One of ills pieces had been suppressed by authority ; another had 
failed; and all of them had brought down upon him private 
odium and ill-will. Yet, notwtthstanding these checks, and an 

* Sliakspore's Richard III. had been at this time eiirht or nine years be- 
fore the public; and there was a still earlier pbiy on tlie same subject, be- 
sides a Latin drama byDr. Legge; so that Jonson had to deal with an 
exhausted theme. Possibly he did not succeed to his satisfaction, and for 
that reason excluded the tragedy from the folio of 1616. 

\ Genoially snp])osed to be Shakspere, who jdayed in it on its first rep- 
resentation. This conjecture is founded on a passage in the introduction 
to the second version, in which Jonson speaks of the "liai)py genius" of 
his former coadjutor ; an equivocal comjjlinient at the moment when he was 
cutting o«t of the play every line his coadjutor had written. 



BEN JONSON. 235 

overbearing temper wliicli exposed liiin to continual hostility, lie 
had succeeded in establishing a special reputation by the solidity 
and scholarship ot his writiugs. These qualities, which none of 
his contemporaries possessed in an equal degree, drew round him 
influential friends who were unaffected by professional jealousies. 
Involved on the one hand in continual contests with players, 
playwrights, and audiences, he was forming on the other close 
mtimacies Avith such men as Bacon, Seldon, and Raleigh. To 
these associations may be traced the distinction conferred upon 
!ii:n under the new reign of being selected from the whole fra- 
ternity to write masques and pageants for the court. He had 
hitherto given no indication of anj^ aptitude for this species of 
composition. On the contraiy, the massive character of his plays 
would seem to have marked hun out as the dramatist least likely 
to succeed in such fanciful exercises. But the experiment was 
made with an i.uplicit trust in his genius: and it may be pre- 
sumed that he was thought to have succeeded, since he continued 
for many years afterwards to supply Whitehall and the nobility 
with similar entertainments. 

His first masque was prepared for the City of London, to be 
presented upon the reception of the new king. In this work, 
strangely enough, he found himself associated with his former 
antagonist Dekker, to wiiom the greater part of the invention 
had been assigned. Other pageants immediately followed, in 
which Jonson was exclusively engaged; one at Althorpe, for the 
Queen and Prince Henry, when they rested there on their way 
from Scotland ; another acted before the royal family at the seat 
of Sir V/illiam Cavendish ; a masque at AVhitehall, by command 
of the Queen, who appeared in it herself, with several of her la- 
dies-, another performed at tiie palace, on the marriage of the 
Earl of Essex-, and several poetical tributes delivered before the 
court at Tiieobald's. 

Wliile tiius occupied, his course was again interrupted by an 
unlucky accident. A comedy called Eastward Ho, written 
jointly by Cliap nan, Jonson, and Marston, and produced about 
1604: or 1605, contained a passage v,iiicli was construed into a re- 
fi^'Ction upon the Scolch. The king, sensitive on the national 
point, took offense, and Chap:iian and Marston were arrested. 
Jonson, considering himself equally responsible, although not 



236 BEN J0N80N. 

included in the process, voluntarily accompanied his friends to 
prison. At first it was reported that their cars and noses were to 
be slit ; but interest was made in their favor ; a second edition 
of the corned}^ was published, with the offending passage ex- 
punged, and they were set free. On his liberation, Jonson gave 
a banquet, at which Selden, then a young man, Camden, and 
others were present, and amongst them the aged mother of the 
poet, who, drinking to lier son, exhibited to the company a paper 
of poison she had prepared to mix in his wine, having determined 
to d-ink of it first herself, if the threatened sentence had been 
carried into execution. Fortunately the fierce old lady was 
spared the tragedy she contemplated ; but the anecdote is curi- 
ous, as revealing the source from whence Jonson derived his hot 
blood and indomitable spirit. 

Their escape from punishment in this instance had little effect 
apparently in curbing the satire of the dramatists ; for shortly 
afterwards Chapman and Jonson were again imprisoned, in con- 
sequence of some personal reflections in another pla}', the name 
of which is unknown. Jonson, however, obtained a release by 
applications to the Earl of Salisbury and the Lord Chamberlain. 

Several plays and masques are crowded into the next few j-ears : 
Volpone, lQ{)i) ; Epicene, 1609; the Alchemist, 1610; and Cati- 
line, 1611 ; and, at intervals, the Queen's Masque, the Masque of 
Beauty, the Masque of Queens, Oleron, the Barriers, and others, 
in the performance of some of which royalty itself condescended 
to participate. In the midst of this brilliant career, Jonson re- 
turned to the Church of England, drinking off a full cup of wine 
at his first communion in token of his complete reconciliation. 
He did everything lustil}' ! 

His life was now at its hight of prosperity and enjoyment. At 
this time flourished the Mermaid Tavern, in Bread Street, where 
that famous club was held which is said, we know not upon what 
authoritj', to have been founded by Raleigh, and which is im- 
mortalized in the w^ell-known lines of Beaumont, and in the 
poems of Jonson. Here Shakspere, before he retired to Strat- 
ford, and often afterwards on his visits to town, Donne, Selden, 
Chapman, Fletcher, Beaumont, and the rest, nightly assembled; 
and here took place those "wit-combats" between Jonson and 
Sliakspere, in which old Fuller compares the former to a great 



BEN J0N80N. 237 

Spanish galleon, " built far higher in learning" than his opponent, 
and "solid but slow in performance ;" and the latter to an Eng- 
lish man-of-war, "lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, turning 
with all tides, tacking about, and taking advantage of all winds 
b}' the quickness of his wit and invention." The comparison 
conveys an accurate reflection of the contrast presented in the 
persons and genius of the two poets. Opposed to • ' gentle Shak- 
spere," as Jonson designated him, "a handsome, well-sliapcd 
man," says Aubrey, graceful and light of limb, and displaying in 
his dress some degree of refinement harmonizing with the ex- 
pression of his pale, tranquil face, his intellectual forehead, and 
thoughtful e3^es, we have "rare Ben "over his "beloved liquor," 
canary, a man of enormous girth and colossal hight, weighing 
close upon twenty stone, his stormy head looking as solid and 
wild as a sea rock, his rugged face knotted and seamed by jovial 
excesses acting on a scorbutic habit, and his brawny person en- 
veloped in a great slovenly wrapper, "like a coachman's great- 
coat, with slits under the armpits," which Lac}', the player, told 
Aubrey was his usual costume. Wliile the robust man lays down 
the law, and thunders out despotic canons, enforced b\" classical 
autiiority, his nimble antagonist undermines his positions with a 
rapid fire of wit which, if it do not convince the judgment of the 
spectators, is at least sure to carry off the applause. Such were 
pastimes of the two great dramatic poets, who, differing in some 
prominent traits ot character, were united by strong affinities in 
their common pursuit and their kindred powers of observation, 
Aubrey tells us that they gatliered humors of men daily wherever 
they went, and we may fill up the outline, without hazarding 
much speculation, by following them on their night rambles 
through the metropolis, and out into the suburbs, collecting ma- 
teria,ls for future comedies; Jonson being specially attracted by 
the peccant eccentricities of such places as Smithfield, with its 
world of cutpurses, drolls, and " motions," Moorfields, where 
ballad-mongers and cudgelplayers abounded, and the rookeries of 
the Bermudas, reeking with ale and tobacco. Of the jealousy 
of iShakspere ascribed to Jonson by some editors there is no 
prooi : but ot his friendship for him there is incontestible evi- 
dence in prose and verse. "I loved tlie man." said Jonson, "and 
do honor to his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any can." 



238 BEI{ JOyso^. 

In 1613 Jonson accompanied Sir Walter Haleigh's son in tlifi 
capacit}" of governor, or traveling tutor, to France. Although 
few men were better qualified to direct the studies of a youth, 
the social habits Jonson liad contracted Avere not calculated to 
secure the requisite control over the conduct of his pupil, as the 
sequel showed. Young Italeigh soon detected the besetting wcak- 
cess of his governor, and, being knavislily inclined, m.ade Li::i 
"dead drunk," as Jonson afterwards described the incident to 
Drummoud, and in that condition caused him to be drawn 0:1 a 
car through the streets, exhibiting him at every corner to the l)y- 
standers, with a profane jest at his expense. Tiie scene of this 
unseeml}'" frolic appears to have l)een Paris, where, in the same 
year, Jonson met with Cardinal du Perron, and told him, in his 
outspoken way, that his translation of Virgil was worthless. 

On his return to London in the ensuing 3'ear Jonson produced 
his BartliolomeiD Fair, followed in 1016 by the capital comedy 
Di The DeviVs an Ass. The interval between these pieces was 
occupied in the preparation of several of his plays, masques, and 
entertainnients for the press, accompanied by his first book of 
Epigi'ams, and the collection of miscellaneous poems called T7ie 
Forest, the whole of which were published in 1616. He evidently 
contemplated a complete edition of his works; but never exe- 
cuted his intention. Earh' in the same 3'ear he and Drayton 
visited Shakspere at Stratford, when that "merry meeting "took 
place, to which Ward in his Diary ascribes the fever that termi- 
nated in the death of Shakspere. 

For nine or ten years after this time Jonson withdrew from the 
theater. His literary labors in the interval appear to have been 
chiefiy linnted to the production of masques, which he found 
more profitable and less precarious than plan's. In the sunnr.er 
of 1618 he made a journey on foot to Scotland, where he remained 
several months; paying a visit of some weeks to Drunnnoud of 
Hawthornden, who noted down his conversations, and preserved 
a record of Jonson's life and opinions, to which we are indebted 
for nearly all the authentic information we possess concerning 
him. 

In the spring of 1610 Jonson was again in London. Soon after 
ills arrival he was invited to Oxford, where the degree of IMaster 
of Arts was conferred upon him in full convocation. Later in 



BEN JONSON: 239 

the year he received addilioual honors, accompanied h}' more 
substantial marks of favor, tlie king appointing him to tlie dig- 
nit}' of Poet Laureate, with a pension of a hundred marks, and 
the reversion of the office of Master of the Revels. From the 
latter, however, he rf^aped no advantage, as the office did not fall 
vacant during his lifetime. The king, desiring to mark still 
more emphatically his personal regard for the poet, proposed to 
bestow a knighthood upon him ; but Jonsou prudently declined a 
title which he could not adequately support, and which had bec-n 
rendered too common to convey any creditable personal distinc- 
tio!i, his majesty having created no less than two hundred and 
thirty-seven knights within six weeks after his accession to the 
throne. 

Jonson's wife is supposed to have died some ti.iie before his 
visit to Scotland. Their union does not appear to have been at- 
tended with much happiness. He told Drummond that she Avas 
honest, but a shrew, and that for five years he had lived apiut 
from her, residing during that period in the house of Lord Au- 
bigny. AVe collect from other sources that he spent much of Lis 
time in visiting the houses of the nobility in the country, ar.d 
that he was frequently received at Windsor, where he was on 
familiar terms with the royal family. During the latter years of 
the reign of James, ample sources of emolument were open to 
liim from tlie court, the city companies, and the nol)ility. The 
Earl of Pembroke used to send him annually £20 on New Year's 
Day to buy books, and he acknowledges many favors of a I Ike 
kind from other quarters. But he lived lavishly, and, even muler 
the most prosperous circumstances, his necessities generally an- 
ticipated his means. Throughout all his vicissitudes, however, 
he accumulated a valuable library ; but it was unfortunately de- 
stroyed by fire, together with many MSS., including his Co:n- 
mentary on the Poetics, his Journey into Scotland, his unfinished 
Life of Henry v., and several poems and plays, the loss of which 
he deplores in the lines entitled An Execration upon Vulcan. 

While he was writing for the theaters, Jonson appears to have 
lived on the Bankside ; he afterwards took up his residence at 
the house of a combmaker, outside Temple Bar. In this locality 
he was close to the Devil Tavern, in Fleet Street, which under 
his auspices became as famous as the Mermaid had been in for' 



240 BEN JONSON 

mer years. Most of the old dramatists were gone ; anCi Jonson 
collected round l)im in the Apollo Club, founded by himself, a 
new race of younger poets, who were destined io form the links 
betweeu the age of Elizabeth and that of the Restoration. In 
the Apollo he ruled supreme. The laws of the club, written by 
himself in pure Latin, were engraved over the mantelpiece, and 
a poetical inscription surmounted the entrance to the room. 
Here were to be found the enthusiastic spirits who aspired to be 
"sealed of the tribe of Ben," with man}^ more, including a wide 
range of intellectual power — Herrick, Suckling, Kei 3lm Digby, 
Carew, Browne, Morley, Hyde, afterwards Earl of Clarendon, 
and a score of others. Jonson was the literary patriarch of the 
assembly ; and if the regulations he prescribed wT^re really carried 
into practice, the orgies of the Apollo differed from those of the 
Mermaid in this remarkable particular, — that they were so/, e- 
times enlivened by the presence of ladies. 

Ever}^ Twelfth Night Jonson produced a masque. The last 
piece of this kind which he furnished for the court l i Jan:es I. 
was Fan's Anniversary, presented in 1625. The death of the 
king, shortl}'^ afterwards, suddenly reduced him to an extremity, 
for wdiich his thoughtless habits left him ill provided, and which 
was rendered still more severe by the menacing approaches of 
disease. It was under these circumstances he again turned to 
the theater for support, bringing out the Staple oj JVews in 1625. 
Toward the close of the year he was attacked by palsy, which 
gave a shock to his naturally strong constitution from the eficcts 
of which he never entirely recovered. In 1626 he wrote ihea:;ti- 
inasque of JopMel, and in 1627 the Fortunate Isles. These, how- 
ever, yielded slender returns in lieu of his usual emplo3'ment from 
the court, and he was once more forced by necessity to resort to 
the playhouse. The JVew Inn was acted in Januar}^, 1629-30. 
The ancient feeling of hostility still followed him ; and the piece 
was driven from the stage, notwithstanding a melancholy appeal 
in the epilogue referri-ng to his distress and sickness. But the 
appeal was not wholly ineffectual, as it drew from the king a 
present of £100, wdiicli Jonson gratefully acknowledged in a triad 
of poems. Upon a pleasant petition from the poet, his Majesty 
afterwards c;ilarged his pension from a hundred marks to a hun- 
dred pound/i with the addition of an annual tierce of canary. 



:^E]St JOKSON. 241 

Having succeeded in attracting the notice of the court, Jonsou 
was once more emplo3'ed to furnish the usual entertainments for 
tlie new year in conjunction with Inigo Jones, who, as the inven- 
tor of macliinery and parapliernaha, had frequently been his co- 
adjutor before. They produced two pageants in 1630, — Love's 
Trhun'ph through CalUpoUs, and Chloridia. The former suc- 
ceeded, but the latter, which cost three thousand pounds iu 
decorations, was indifferently received, and its joint authors seem 
to have thrown the blame upon each other. Jouson was ill and 
in distress ; Jones was basking in prosperity ; and both were men 
of high pretensions and impatient tempers. Acrimonious feel- 
ings had long before existed between them. So far back as 1618, 
Jonson spoke of Jones iu terms of contempt and opprobrium, and 
was supposed to have satirized him in Bartholomew Fair. They 
afterwards became reconciled, and worked together again ; but 
the old rankling feeling w^as revived upon the publication of 
Pan's Anniversary iu 1625, with the architect's name on the title- 
page taking precedence of the poet's. When Chloridia appeared, 
Jonson reversed the order, and placed his own name first. The 
smothered feud now broke out into an open quarrel. Jones used 
his influence at court to procure the dismissal of Jonson as the 
writer of masques, and the substitution of Aurelian Townsend, 
an obscure poetaster, in his place. Irritated by an act of hostility 
which deprived him of one of his principal sources of income, 
and galled by many subsequent indignities, Jouson revenged him- 
self upon his antagonist by some bitter pasquinades, which were 
eagerly circulated, and at last found their way to Whitehall. 
The king took offense at the freedom of these invectives; and 
Jonson was induced, by the remonstrances of his friends, to recall 
the lampoons, and destroy all the copies of them he could recover. 
But it was too late. He was excluded from any further partici- 
pation in masques and pageants ; and, the tide of favor having 
set in against him, (iie city followed the example of the court, 
and withdrew their annual bounty of a hundred nobles which 
tliey had hitherto paid to him for his services. 

These accumulated misfortunes fell heavily upon a frame de- 
bilitated by disease. He had been twice stricken with palsy, and 
w^as afflicted with dropsy and a complication of other disorders, 
which for the last few years of his life almost constantly confined 



242 ^^N JOJVSO:^. 

him to liis room. Latterly he had been ol)liged to rclinquisli liis 
former pleasant haunts in Fleet Street, and seciudc hin.s'lf in 
Westminster, where he lived, says Aubrey, "in the house under 
which you pass to go out of the churchyard into the old palace." 
His children were all dead ; and the care of tending him in his 
retirement devolved on a female companion whose relations to 
him are involved in obscurit}'.* There is some ground for sup- 
posing that Jonson married a second time in the 3'ear 1623 ; and, 
if the conjecture be correct, his housekeeper in AVestminster n.ay 
have been his second wife.t 

The extremity to which he was leduced by disease and want 
is shown in letters to some of his former patrons, pleading the 
misery of his situation and asking temporary succor. Nothing 
but this urgent necessit}^ could have forced him to risk the thea- 
ter again. It was the only resource left. His last ])]ays. 77ie 
Magnetic Ladi/ and 7'he Tale of a Tub, were produced in 1G32 
and 1633. These pieces, which Dryden calls his "dotages," are 
painfully marked by traces of the struggle tlu'ough which he was 
passing. Happily his suiierings obtained some relief from the 
kindness of the Earl of Newcastle, who, in the spring of 1633, 
engaged him to furnish a short entertainment to be presented he- 
fore the king on his journey into Scotland; and to this revival 
of the discarded poet nia}^ probably, be attributed the renewal 
of Jonson's salar}?^ from the city in the following year, at the ex- 
press solicitation of the king. This slight addition to his m.eans 

* Tlie authority lor this is Izaak ^'altoii, who coninuiiiicatcd the fact to 
Aubiey. 

i The register ot St. Giles's Chinch, Cripplegate, contains an entry of tlic 
marriage of Ben. Jolmson and Hester Ilopldns, on the 27th of July, iri-2:3. 
Mr. Collier supposes that this vras the poet.- See Memoirs of Actors }>. xxiv. 
Mr. Collier furnishes sorae interesting particulars, not previously luunvn, 
conceiiimg Jonson's children. It appears that, toward the close (;f 1519, 
Jonson lost a son, named Joseph, who was hui ied on the 9ih Dcct niher, at 
St. Giles's, Cripplegnte, and that ou the 1st October in the following year, 
Benjamin Jonson, infant, was iiiteired at St. Botolph, Bishop.'^gate. .Another 
boy was chri.steiied B(Mijamin at St. Anne's, Blackfriars, on the 20tl: Fel-ru- 
ary, 1607-8: ami this son died three years afterwards, and wa.^ buiied, on 
the 18th November, 1611, in the burial-giound of the same church. No 
memorial has been found oi the death of the sou who es})ired in 1635, or of 
Mary, whose loss is lamented iu the touching epitaph beginning, "Here 
lies, to each her parents' ruth." 



BEN JONSOK. 243 

appears to liave reinvigorated him with a gleam of his early 
power; and it was at this time, literally upon his deathbed, that 
he produced tliat exquisite iragmeut of a pastoral drama, TJie 
Sad Sheplierd, wliicii, in beauty and freshness of conception and 
treatment, is the most youthful of all his works. It was the last 
effort of his pen... He died on the 6[h of August, 1G37, and was 
buried on the 9th in Westminster Abbey. A subscription was 
set on foot for the erection of a monument, but the political 
troubles of the time interfered with the execution of the design. 
Meanwhile, a gentleman of Oxfordshire, Sir John Young, fami- 
liarly called Jack Young, happening to pass through the Abbej'', 
gave one of the masons eighteenpence to cut upon t'*e common 
pavement stone which covered the grave the brief epitaph, 
'• Oh, rare Ben Jonson." 

Tiie smallness of the surface occupied by the gravestone is 
explained by the fact that the coffin was deposited in an upright 
position ; possibly, as has been surniised, to diminisn the fee by 
economy of space. The tradition that Jonson had been interred 
in this manner was generally discredited until the grave was 
opened a few years ago. when the remains of the poet were dis- 
covered in an erect posture. 

Jonson has drawn his own portrait v/ith unmistakable fidelity. 
The "mountain belly" and "rocky face," the "prodigious 
waist" and "stooping back," which he has himself depicted, 
Ijiing his whole person clearly before us. His dominant temper 
was fitly lodged in a bulky and muscular frame ; and if he was 
boastful and arrogant, these exceptional qualities were undoubt- 
edly associated with conspicuous boldness and courage. The 
habits of his life were those of a voluptuary, to the utmost extent 
of his means and opportunities. He indulged freeh' in wine, 
aid Howell testifies to the epicurean luxury with which he en- 
tertained his friends. But wine was not his ruling passion. His 
admiration of beauty carried him into other, and, perhaps, more 
dangerous excesses. He was proud of his intimacy with ladies 
of rank, so.ne of wiiom played in his masques at court and else- 
wiiere ; and it was for charging him with this general devotion 
to the sex that he originally quarreled with Marston. 

Whallev has carefully summed up in the following passage 
some of the chief features in Jonson's gharacter : " He was labo- 



244 BEN JONSON. 

rions and indefatigable in his studies ; his reading was copious 
and extensive; liis memory so tenacious and strong, tliat, when 
turned of forty, he could have repeated all that he had ever 
wrote ; his judgment accurate and solid ; and often consulted by 
those who knew him well in branches of very curious learning, 
and far remote from the flowery paths loved and frequented by 
the nuises. The Lord Falldand celebrates him as an admirable 
scholar ; and saith, that the extracts he took, and the observa- 
tions which he made on the books he read, were themselves a 
treasure of learning, though the originals should happen to be 
lost. By the death of Jonson his family itself became extinct, 
the only issue he left being his plays and poems." 

If nothing remained of Jonson but his plays, we should arrive 
at ver}^ imperfect and erroneous conclusions upon his personal 
and poetical character. We could never know him from his 
pla3's, as we believe we know Shakspere. The rough vigor, the 
broad satire, and the tendency to exhibit the coarse and base 
aspects of the world in preference to the gentle and noble, convey 
an inadequate, and in some respects a false, impression of his 
genius. It is in his minor poems we must look for him as he 
lived, felt, and thought. Here his express qualities are fully 
brought out; his close study of the classics; his piety, sound 
principles, and profound knowledge of mankind; his accurate 
observation of social modes and habits ; and that strong common 
sense, taking the most nervous and direct forms of expression, 
in which we may trace the germs of Dryden more clearly than 
in any other writer. Here, too, and here alone, we find him 
surrounded by the accomplished society in the midst of which 
he lived, and of whose principal celebrities he has transmitted 
to us a gallery of imperishable portraits. 

His pictures of town life, of the lowest dens and denizens of 
the metropolis, and of interior morals, from the palace to the 
hothouse, are no less conspicuous in his minor poems than in his 
plays. But it is in the poems alone, with the exception of the 
Sad SJiepherd, and a few passages in the masques, otherwise 
overweighted with lear', that he develops his fine vein of pastoral 
feeling. His descriptions of countr}' life, and rural scenery and 
associations, are no less remarkable for their truthfulness than 
their relishing sweetness. The lines on Penshurst, and the 



BEN JONSON. 



245 



/epistle to Sir Robert Wroth, may be selected as special examples 
of excellence in this kind of writing. 

Tlie predominant merit of his poems lies in their practical 
wisdom. Making reasonable allowances for the aberrations of 
flattery in an age of patronage, he is everywhere the inflexible 
advocate of truth and virtue, the scorner of false pretensions, 
and tlie scourger of vice and meanness. His lines are pregnant 
with thoughts applicable to the conduct of life; and without any 
of the affectation of aphorisms, multitudes of his couplets might 
be separated from the context, pud preserved apart for their 
axiomatic completeness. 




[347] 



POEMS 



OF 



BEN JONSON. 



EPIGRAMS. 



DEDICATION. 

TO THE GREAT EXAMPLE OF HOXOR AND VIKTLK, THE MOST NOBLE WILLIAM, 
KAKL OF FEMUllOKF,,t LORD CHAMIJERLALX, &C. 

My Lord : While you can uot change your merit, I dare not change your 
title: it was that made it, ami not I. Under which name, I heie offer to 
your Lordslii[i the ripest nt'my studies, my Epigrams: which, though they 
carry danger in the sound, d() not, therefore, seek your shelter; for, when 
I made them. I had nothing in my conscience, to expressing of which I 
did need a cipher. But, if I be fallen into those times, wherein, for the 

* The text of this edition is piloted from the oiiginal folio, jjuhlished in 
1(116, under the supervision of Jonson. The titlepage announces these 
Epigrams as Book I.. Jonson evidently intending to make additional C(d- 
ections of similar pieces, — a design which he never carried into effect. 
The folio is printed with much greater care than is usual in books of that 
jteriod; and it is here strictly followed, except when it was necessary to 
remove obsolete forms, or to make slight changes in the punctuation. 
Gifford"s text, printed also from the folio of 1616, has been consulted 
tiiroughout, but it supplies no emendations, and is in many instances 
inaccurate. 

Jonson was not happy in any of the titles he gave to these collections. 
Thus, under the head of "Epigrams ' lie includes numerous pieces which 
have nothing in common with that form of composition. The collection, 
as observed by Gifford, is really an Anthology. But Gifford is wrong in 
saying that Jonson meant by an epigram a short poem chiefly restricted 
to one idea, a description which would better apply to the sonnet. He 
showed that he clearly understood the conditions of the epigram when he 
justly condemned the epigrams of Harrington and Owen as being bare 
narrations. 

t This distinguished nobleman has been supposed by some commenta- 
tors, with an obvious disregard of dates and other circumstances, to have 
been the W. H. of Shakspere's sonnets. It was to the Earl of Pembroke 



248 BEN J0N80N. 

likeness of vice, and facts, every one tliinl<s another's ill deeds objected to 
him; and that in their ignorant and guilty months, the common voice is, 
for their security, "Beware the Poet! " confessing therein so much love to 
their diseases, as they would rather make a p;nty for them, than be eitlier 
rid or told of them ; I must expect, at jour Lordship's hand, the protection 
of truth and liberty, while you are constant to your own goodness. In 
thanks whereof, I return j-ou the honor of leading forth so many good and 
great names (as my verses mention ou the better part) to tlieii- remem- 
brance with posterity. Amongst whom, if I have praised, unfortunately, 
any one that doth not deserve; or, if all answer not, in all numbers, the 
pictures I have made of them : I hope it will be foigiven me that they are 
no ill pieces, though they be not like the persons. r>ut I foiesee a neaier 
fate to my book than this : that the vices therein will be owned before the 
virtues (though there I have avoided all particulais. as I have done names) 
and that some will be so ready to discredit me, as they will have the impu- 
dence to belie themselves. For, if I meant them not, it is so. Xor can I 
hope otherwise. For why should thej^ remit anything of their riot, their 
pride, their self-love, and other inherent graces, to consider truth or 
virtue; but, with the trade of the world, lend their long ears agnin.st men 
they love not: and hold their dear mountebank, or jester, in far better 
condition than all the study or studiers of humanity. For such. I would 
i^ather know them by their vizards still, than they should i)ul)li.sh their 
faces, at their peril, in my theater, where Cato, if he lived, might enter 
without scandal. Your Lordships most faithful honorer, 

Bex Joxson. 

and his brother, the Earl of Montgomery, that Heminge ami Condell, in 
1623, dedicated the folio edition of Shakspere's plays, in which they are 
said to have been assisted by Jonson,— a statement entirely unsupported 
by evidence. The first play exhibited in England before James I. was pre- 
sented by Shakspere's comi)any in the Earl of Pembroke's house at Wilton. 
His lordship was a munificent friend to Jonson, and used to send him £20 
on every i^ew Year's Day to buy books, as we learn from the Conversations 
preserved by Drifmmond. The j)oefs wants, however, occasionally over- 
took his purchases, for it appearskjfrom the same authority, that ''sundry 
times he devoured his books, that is, sold them all for necessity." 




EPIGRAMS. 249 

I. TO THE READER. 

Pray thee, take care, that tak'st my b:ok in liaud. 
To read it well; that is, to understand. 

II. TO MY BOOK. 

It will be looked for, Book, when some but see 

Thy title, E^^igrams, and named of me. 

Thou shouldst be b^ld, licentious, full of gall, 

Wormwood, and sulphur, sharp, and toothed withal. 

Become a petuhmt thing, hurl ink and wit. 

As madmen stones ; not caring whom they hit. 

Deceive their malice, who could write it so ; 

And, by thy wiser temper, let men know 

Thou art not covetous of least self-fame 

Made from the hazard of another's shame: 

Much less, with lewci, profane, and beastly phrase, 

To catch the world's loose laughter, or vain gaze. 

He that departs with his own honesty 

For vulgar praise, doth it too dearly buy. 

III. TO MY BOOKSELLER. 

Thou that mak'st gain thy end, and, wisel}' well, 

Call'st a book good, or bad, as it doth sell. 

Use mine so, too ; I give thee leave ; but crave, 

For the luck's sake, it thus much favor have, 

To lie upon thy stall, till it be sought ; 

Not offered, as it made suit to be bought ; 

Nor have my title-leaf on posts or walls 

Or in cleft sticks, advanced to make calls 

For tsrmers,* or some clerklike serving-man, [can. 

Who scarce can spell ih' hard names; whose knight less 

If, without these vile arts, it will not sell. 

Send it to Bucklersbury,! there 'twill well. 

* Persous who resoited to London duiini:- term time. Avlicli the town was 
crowded, for the purx)oses of carrying on intiijrue.s, or pructisiiij^ cheats and 
tricks. 

t Equivalent to saving " Send it to the trunt-maliers." Bucklersbiiry, or 
more properly Euckle's-bury, was chiefly inhabited, according to Stow, by 
druggists and grocers. 



250 BEN JONSON. 

IV. TO KING JAMES. 

How, best of kings, dost thou a scepter bear? 
How, best of poets, dost thou laurel wear? 
But two things rare the Fates had in their store. 
And gave thee both, to show they could no more. 
For such a poet, while thy days were green, 
Tl}ou wert, as chief of them are said t' have been. 
And such a prince thou art, we daily see, 
As chief of those still promise they will be. 
Whom should my muse then fl}^ to, but the best 
Of kings, for grace; of poets, for my test? 

V. ox THE UNION. 

When was tliere contract better driven by Fate, 
Or celebrated with more truth of state? 
The world the temple was, the priest a king, 
The spoused pair two realms, the sea a ring. 

VI. TO ALCHEMISTS. 

I'' all you boast of your great art be true, 
Sure, willing poverty lives most in you. 

VII. ON THE NEW HOT-HOUSE. 

Where lately harbored many a famous whore, 
A purging bill, now fixed upon the door. 
Tells you it is a hot-house ; so it may, 
And still be a whore-house : they're synonyma. 

VIII. ON A ROBBERY. 

Ridway robbed Duncote of three hundred pound ; 

Kidway w^as taen, arraigned, condemned to die ; 
But, for this money, w^as a courtier found. 

Begged Bidway's pardon : Duncote now doth cry^ 
B )bbed both of money, and the law's relief, 
"The courtier is become the greater thief." 

IX. TO ALL TO WHOM I WRITE. 

May none whose scattered names honor my book, 
For strict degrees of rank or title look: 
'Tis 'gainst the manners of an epigram; 
And I a poet here, no herald am. 



EPionAMS. 251 

X. TO MY LORD IGNORANT. 

Thou call'sfc m3 poet, as a term of shame; 
But I have my revenge made, in thy name. 

XI. ON SOMETHING, THAT WALKS SOMEWHERE. 

At court I met it, in clothes brave enough 

To be a courtier ; and looks grave enough 

To seem a statesman : as I near it came, 

It made me a great face; I asked the name. 

A Lord, it cried, buried in flesh and blood. 

And such from wdiom let no man hope least good. 

For I will do none ; and as little ill, 

For I will dare none : Good Lord, walk dead still. 

XII. ON LIEUTENANT SHIFT. 

Shift, here in town, not meanest amongst squires 

That haunt Pickt-hatch, Marsh-Lambeth, and Wiiite- 

Kee23S himself, watli half a man, and defrays [friars,* 

The charge of that state, w^ith this charm, God pays-f 

By that one spell he lives, eats, drinks, arrays 

Himself; his w4iole revenue is, God pays. 

The quarter-day is come; the hostess says, 

She must have money : he returns, God pays. 

The tailor brings a suit home ; he it essays, 

Looks o'er the bill, likes it : and says, God pays. 

He steals to ordinaries; there he plays 

At dice his borrowed money — which, God pays. 

Then takes up fresh commodities, for days ; 

Signs to new bonds; forfeits; and cries, God pays. 

That lost, he keeps his chamber, reads essays, 

Takes physic, tears the papers ; still, God pays. 

Or else by w^ater goes, and so to plays ; 

Calls for his stool, adorns the stage:! God pays. 

* looted liiiniits of the most vicious nmi ])roliiu^ate chisses. 

t A c:nit blasuiieiuy curreiit ;ini()iig.st swindlers aiid disbanded soldiers, 
Avlio. i-unninjr ii[» scores wherever lliey could get credit, lived by a succession 
of iinnudent frauds. This piece i)resents a cat;ilogiie of the piactises of 
these sliai'])ei-s. 

I Ir \v:is the custom for young men of fashion to sit U])nn the stage, for 
"whicli they were charged extra. A tiiree-leirged stool, says Mr. Collier 
{Annals of the Stage], whicli Dekker (1009) dignifies by the style of "a 
tripos"' seems to have been usually hired on these occasions, and for this 
sixpence, and subsequently a shilling, wiis ])aid. The euti'ance to the stage 
for i)ersous who availed themselves of this privilege was through the 'tiring 
house. 



252 BEN J ON SON. 

To every cause he meets, this voice he brays: 

His only answer is to all, God pays. 

Not his poor cockatrice but he betraj^s 

Thus ; and for his lechery-scores, God pays. 

But see! th' old bawd hath served him in his trim, 

Lent him a pocky whore. — She hath paid him. 

XIII. TO DOCTOR EMPIRIC. 

When men a dangerous disease did scape 
Of old, they gave a cock to Esculape: 
Let me give two, that doubly am got free — 
From my disease's danger, and from thee. 

XIV. TO WILLIAM CAMDEN.* 

Camden ! most reverend head, to whom I owe 
All that I am in arts, all that I know — 
How nothing's that! to whom my country owes 
The great renown, and name wherewith she goes ! 
Than thee the age sees not that thing more grave. 
More high, more holy, that she more would crave. 
What name, what skill, what faith hast thou in thiwgs! 
What sight in searching the most antique sjoriiigs! 
What weight, and what authority in thy speech ! 
Men scarce can make that doubt, but thou canst teach. 
Pardon free truth, and let thy modesty. 
Which conquers all, be once o ercome by thee. 
Many of thine, this better could, than I ; 
But for their powers, accept my piety. 

XV. ON COURT-WORM. 

All men are worms: but this no man. In silk 
'Twas brought to court first wrapped,and white as milk; 
Where, afterwards, it grew a butterfly. 
Which was a caterpillar: so 'twill die. 

XVI. TO BRAIN-HARDY. 

Hardy, thy brain is valiant, 'tis confessed ; 
Thou more, that with it every day dar'st jest 

* Camden was the " friend " who put Joiison to school, and was his master 
at Westminster. Not only in these lines, but on several other occasions, 
especially in the dedication oi Every Man in his Humor, Jousoii testified the 
reverence in which he held him. 



EPIGRAMS. 253 

Thyself into fresh brawls ; when, called upon, 
Scarce thy week's swearing brings thee off, of one. 
So, in short time, thou'rt in arrearage grown 
Some hundred quarrels, yet dost thou fight none ; 
Nor need'st thou ; for those few, by oath released, 
Make good what thou dar'st do in all the rest. 
Keep thyself there, and think thy valor right. 
He that dares damn himself, dares more than fight. 

XVII. TO THE LEARNED CRITIC. 

May others fear, fly, and traduce thy name, 
As guilty men do magistrates ; glad I, 

That wish my poems a legitimate fame, 

Charge them, for crown, to thy sole censure hie. 

And, but a sprig of bays, given by thee. 

Shall outlive garlands stolen from the chaste tree.* 

XVIII. TO MY MERE ENGLISH CENSURER. 

To thee my way in Epigrams seems new. 
When both it is the old way, and the true. 
Thou sayest that can not be, for thou hast seen 
Davis, and Weever,t and the best have been, 
And mine come nothing like. I hope so. Yet, 
As theirs did with thee, mine might credit get. 
If thou'dst but use thy faith, as thou didst then, 
When thou wert wont t' admire, not censure men. 
Prythee, believe still, and not judge so fast. 
Thy faith is all the knowledge that thou hast. 

XIX. ON SIR COD, THE PERFUMED. J 

That Cod can get no widow, yet a knight, 
I scent the cause: he woos with an ill sprite. 

XX. TO THE SAME SIR COD. 

Th' expense in odors is a most vain sin. 
Except thou couldst. Sir Cod, wear them within. 

" The laurel. Tiie epithet is happily selected iu refeieiice to the trans- 
formation of Daphne. 

t Contemporaries of Joiison ; the former a writing-master at Oxfoiil, who 
published a collection of epigrams called A Scourge of Folly, and the latter 
a compiler of old inscriptions and epitaphs -which he published nnder the 
title of Funeral Monuments. 

I The little bag iu wiiich perfumes were carried was called a cod. 



254 BEN JONSOK. 

XXI. ON REFORMED GAMESTER. 

LoiyI, how is Gumester cbang*ecl ! his hair close cut ! 
His ueck fenced round with ruff! his eyes half shut! 
His clothes two fashions off, and poor! his sword 
Forbid his side? And nothing, ])ut the word 
Quick in his lips! Who hath this wonder wrought! 
The late ta'en bastinado. So I tljought. 
What several ways men to their calling have! 
The body's stripes, I see, the soul may save. 

XXII. ON MY FIRST DAUGHTER. 

Here lies, to each her parents' ruth,* 

Mary, the daughter of their youth ; 

Yet, all heaven's gifts, being heaven's due. 

It makes the father less to rue. 

At six months' end, she parted hence, 

With safety of her innocence ; 

Whose soul heaven's queen, whose name she bears. 

In comfort of her mother's tears, 

Hath placed amongst her virgin-train ; 

AVhere, while that severed doth remain. 

This grave partakes the fleshy birth ! 

Which cover lightly, gentle earth ! 

XXIII. TO JOHN DONNE. 

Donne, the delight of Phoebus, and each Muse, 
Who, to thy one, all other brains refuse ; 
Whose every work, of thy most early wit, 
Came forth example, and remains so yet: 
Longer a knowing, than most wits do live. 
And which no affection praise enough can give ! 
To it thy language, letters, arts, best life, 
Which might with half mankind maintain a strife. 
All which I meant to j^raise, and yet I would; 
But leave, because I can not as I should. 

XXIV. TO THE PARLIAMENT. 

There's reason good that you good laws should raake^ 

Men's manners ne er was viler for your s"J:c. 

* Pity or compassion. 



EPIGRAMS. 255 

XXV. ON SIR VOLUPTUOUS BEAST. 

While Beast instructs his fair and innocent wife 
In the past pleasures of his sensual life, 
Telling the motions of each petticoat, 
And how his Ganymede moved, and how his goat, 
And now her hourly her own cucquean makes, 
In varied shapes, which for his lust she takes : 
What doth he else, but say, Leave to be chaste, 
Just vvife, and, to change me, make woman's haste! 

XXVI, ox THE SAME BEAST. 

Then his chaste wife, though Beast now know no more. 
He adulters still, his thoughts lie with a whore. 

XXVII. ON SIS JOHN KOE.* 

In place of 'scutcheons that should deck thy hearse, 

Take better ornaments, my tears and verse. 

If any sword could save from Fates, Roe's could; 

If any muse outlive their spite, his can ; 
If any friend's tears could restore, his would ; 

If any pious life e'er lifted man 
To heaven, his hath : Oh, happy state ! wherein 
We, sad for him, may glory, and not sin. 

XXVIII, ON DON SUELY. 

Djn Surly, to aspire the glorious name 

Of a great man, and to be thought the same. 

Makes serious use of all great trade he knows. 

He speaks to men with a rhinoceros' nose, 

Which he thinks great; and so reads verses too; 

And that is done, as he saw great men do. 

He has tympanies of business in his face, 

And can forget men's names vs'itli a great grace. 

He will both argue, and discourse in oaths. 

Both Vv^hich are great, and laugh at ill-made clothes 

Tliat's greater yet, to cry his own up neat. 

He doth at meals, alone, his pheasant eat, 

Which is main greatness ; and, at his still board. 

He di'inks to no man: that's, too, like a lord. 

* Gifford coiiJL'CtiiT'es tbat this <xe!itU'in;iii was one of tlie four sons of Sir 
Tliomas Roe, a Loudon meichaut of gixat eniiueuce, who died about 1570. 



256 BEN JONSON. 

He keeps another's wife, whicli is a spice 
Or solemn greatness: and be dares, at dice, 
liiaspheme God greatly; or some poor hind beat, 
Tkat breathes in his dog's way, and this is great. 
Nay more, for greatness' sake, he will be one 
May hear my Epigrams, but like of none. 
Surly, use other arts, these only can 
Si^yle thee a most great fool, but no great man. 

XXIX. TO SIR ANNUAL TILTER. 

Tilter, the most may admire thee, though not I; 
And thou, right guiltless, mayst plead to it, why? 
For thy late sharp device. I say 'tis fit 
All brains, at times of triumph, should run wit: 
For then, our water-conduits do run wine ; 
But that's put in, thou'lt say. Why, so is thine. 

XXX. TO PERSON GUILTY. 

Guilty, be wise ; and though thou know'st the crimes 
Be thine, I tax, yet do not own my rhymes : 
'Twere madness in thee to betray thy fame. 
And person, to the world, ere I thy name. 

XXXI. ON BANKS THE USURER. 

Banks feels no lameness of his knott}' gout, 
His monej's travel for him in and out; 
And though the soundest legs go every day, 
He toils to be at hell as soon as they. 

XXXII. ON SIR JOHN ROE. 

What two brave perils of the private sword 

Could not effect, nor all the Furies do. 
That self-divided Belgia did afford; 

What not the envy of the seas reached to. 
The cold of Moscow, and fat Irish air. 

His often change of clime, though not of mind. 
All eould not work ; at home, in his repair. 

Was his blest fate, but our hard lot to find. 
Which shows, whatever death doth please t' appear, 
Seas, serenes,* swords, shot, sickness, all are there. 

* A blight, the damp of evening. — Nares. Jonson uses the word els© 
where; — 

"Some serene blast me." — Yolpone, ii. G. 



EPIGRAMS. 257 

XXXIII. TO THE SAME. 

V\{ not offend thee ^Yitll a vain tear more, 
Glu'l-mentioned Roe; thou art but gone before, 
Whither the workl must follow; and I, now, 
Breathe to expect my When, and make my How; 
Which if most gracious heaven grunt hke thine, 
Who wets my grave, can be no friend of mine. 

XXXIV. OF DEATH. 

He that fears death, or mourns it, in the just, 
iShows of the Kesurrection little trust. 

XXXV. TO KING JAMES. 

Who would not be thy subject, James, t' obey 
A Princ3 that rules by example, more than sway? 
Whjse manners draw, more than thy powers constrain, 
And in this short time of thy happiest reign. 
Hast purged thy realms, as we have now no cause 
L3it us of fear, but first our crimes, then laws; 
Like aids 'gainst treasons who hath found before, 
ind, than in them, how could we God know more ? 
First thou preserved wert our king to be ; 
\.\vl since, the whole land was preserved for thee. 

XXXVI. TO THE GHOST OF MARTIAL. 

Martial, thou gav'st far nobler epigrams 

To thy Domitian, than I can to my James ; 

But in my royal subject I pass thee. 

Thou flatter'dst thine, mine can not flattered be. 

XXXVII. ON CHEVERIL, THE LAWYER. 

No cmse, nor client fat, will Cheveril leese, 
But as the}' come, on both sides he takes fees, 
Ail 1 pleaseth b:>th ; for while ho melts his grc-.so. 
For this, that wins for v>'hom he holds his p«.ace. 

XXX\^II. TO PERSON GUILTY. 

Guilty, because I bade you late be wise, 

And tj conceal your ulcers did advise. 

You laugh when you are touched, and, long before 

Any man else, you clap your hands, and roar. 



258 BEN JONSON. 

And cry," Good ! Good ! " This quite perverts my sense. 
And lies so far from wit, 'tis impudence. 
Believe it, Guilty, if you lose your sliame, 
I'll lose my modesty, and tell your name. 

XXXIX ON OLD COLT. 

For all night-sins with others' wives unknown, 
Colt now doth daily penance with his own. 

XL. ON MARGARET RATCLIFFE. 

M arble weej) ! for thou dost cover, 

A dead beauty underneath thee. 

El ich as nature could bequeath thee ; 

G rant then, no rude hand remove her. 

A 11 the gazers in the skies, 

H ead not in fair heaven's story 

E xpresser truth, or truer glor}', 

T han they might in her bright eyes. 

B are as wonder was her wit, 
A nd, like nectar, ever flowing; 
T ill time, strong by her bestowing, 
C onquered hatli both life and it; 
Li ife, whose grief was out of fashion 
I n these times. Few so have rued 
F ate in a brother. To conclude, 
F or wit, feature, and true passion, 
E arth, thou hast not such another. 

XLI. ON GIPSY. 

Gipsy, new bawd, is turned physician. 

And gets more gold than all the college can ; 

Such her quaint practice is, so it allures, 

For what she gave, a whore — a bawd, she cures. 

XLII. ON GILES AND JOAN. 

Who says that Giles and Joan at discord be? 

Th' observing neighbors no such mood can see. 

Indeed, poor Giles rejDents he married ever; 

But that his Joan doth too. And Giles would never. 



EPIGRAMS. 269 

By his free will, be in Joan's company ; 

No more would Joan lie should. Giles riseth early, 

And having got him out of doors is glad ; 

The like is Joan: but turning home is sad; 

And so is Joan. Ofttimes when Giles doth find 

Harsh sights at home, Giles wisheth he were blind; 

All this doth Join: or that his long-yearned life 

"Were quite outspun ; the like wish hath his wife. 

The children that he keeps, Giles swears are none 

Of his begetting ; and so swears his Joan. 

In all affections she concurreth still. 

If now, with man and wife, to will and nil! 

The selfsam3 things a note of concord be, 

I know no couple better can agree! 

XLIII. TO ROBERT, EARL OF SALISBURY. 

"What need hast thou of me, or of my muse, 

Whose actions so themselves do celebrate? 
"Wnich, should thy country's love to speak refuse. 

Her foes enough would fame thee in their hate. 
Tofore, great men were glad of poets ; now, 

I, not the worst, am covetous of thee; 
Yet dare not to my thought least hope allow 

Of adding to thy fame ; thine may to me, 
"When in my book men read but Cecil's name, 

And what I write thereof find far, and free 
From servile flattery, common poet's shame, 

As thou stand'st clear of the necessity. 



XLIV. ON CHUFFE, 
BANKS THE USURER'S KINSMAN. 

Chuffe, lately rich in name, in chattels, goods, 

And rich in issue to inherit all. 

Ere blacks were bought for his own funeral, 
Saw all his race approach the blacker floods : 

He meant they thither should make swift repair^ 

"When he made him executor, might be heir, 



260 BEN JONSON. 

XLV. ON MY FIRST SON. 

Farewell, tliou child of my riglit hand, and joy 5 

My sin was too much hope of thee, loved bc}' ; 

Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pa}^ 

Exacted by thy fate, on the just day. 

Oh ! could I lose all father, now ! for why 

AVill man lament the state he should envy? 

To have so soon 'scaped world's and flesh's rage^ 

And, if no other miserj^, yet age ! 

Ryst in soft peace, and, asked, say here dcth lij 

Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry; 

For w^iose sake, henceforth, all his vows be such. 

As what he loves may never like too much. 

VLVI. TO SIR LUCKLESS WOO- ALL. 

Is this the Sir who, some v^^aste wife to win, 

A knighthood bought, to go a-wooing in"? 

'Tis Luckless, he that took up one on band 

To pay at's day of marriage. By my hand 

The knight-wright's cheated then! he'll never payj 

Yes, now he wears his knighthood every day. 

XLVII. TO THE SAME. 

Sir Luckless, troth, for luck's sake pass by one; 
He that woes every widow wdll get none. 

XLVIII. ON MUNGRIL ESQUIRE. 

His bought arms Mung' not liked ; for his first day 
Of bearing them in field, he threw 'em away : 
And hath no'honor lost, our duelists saj*. 

XLIX. TO PLAYWRIGHT. 

Plaj'wright me reads, and still my verses damnSj 
He says I want the tongue of Epigrams ; 
I have no salt : no bawdry, he doth mean ; 
For witty, in his language, is obscene. 
Playwright, I loathe to have thy manners known 
In my chaste book ; profess them in thine own. 

L. TO SIR COD. 

Leave, Cod, tobacco-like, burned gums to takcp 
Or fumy clysters, thy moist lungs to bake : 
Arsenic would thee fit for society make. 



EPIGRAMS. 26l 

LI. TO KING JAMES. 

UPON THE HAPPY FALSE JiUMOll OK HIS DEATH, THE 22XD OF 
MARCH, IGOG. 

That we thy loss might know, and thou our love, 

Great heaven did well, to give ill fame free wing i 
Which though it did but panic terror prove, 

And far beneath least pause of sucli a king; 
Yet give thy jealous subjects leave to doubt, 

Who this thy 'scape from rumor gratulate, 
No less than if from peril ; and devout, 

Do beg thy care unto thy after-state. 
For we, that have our eyes still in our ears. 
Look not upon thy dangers, but our fears. 

LII. TO CENSORIOUS COURTLING. 

Courtling, I rather thou shouldst utterly 
Dispraise my work, than praise it frostily: 
When I am read, thou feign'st a weak applause^ 
As if thou wert my friend, but lack'dst a cause. 
This but thy judgment fools : the other way 
Would both thy folly and thy spite betray. 

LIII. TO OLDEND GATHERER. 

Long-gathering Oldend, I did fear thee wise, 
When having pilled a book which no man buys. 
Thou wert content the author's name to lose: 
But when, in place, thou didst the patron's choose 
It was as if thou printed hadst an oath, 
To give the world assurance thou wert both ; 
And that, as puritans at baptism do. 
Thou art the father, and the witness too. 
For, but thyself, where, out of motley, 's he 
Could save that line to dedicate to thee? 

LIV. ON CHEVERIL. 

Cheveril cries out, my verses libels are ; 
And threatens the Star-chamber, and the Bar: 
What are thy petulant pleadings, Cheveril, then. 
That quit'st the cause so oft, and rail'st at men? 



262 BEN JONSON. 

LV. TO FRANCIS BEAUMONT. 

How I do love thee, Beaumont, and thy muse, 

That unto me dost such rehgion use ! 
How I do fear myself, that am not worth 
The least mdulgent thought thy pen drops forth! 
At once thou mak'st me happy, and unmak'st; 
And giving largely to me, more thou tak'st ! 
What fate is mine, that so itself bereaves? 
Wliat art is thine, that so thy friend deceives? 
AVhen even there, where most thou j^raisest me, 
For writing better, I must envy thee. 

LVI. ON POET-APE, 

Poor Poet-a^oe, that would be thought our chief, 

AVhose works are e'en the frippery of wit, 
From brokage is become so bold a thief. 

As we, the robbed, leave rage, and j^ity it. 
At first he made low shifts, would pick and glean. 

Buy the reversion of old plays ; now grown 
To a little wealth, and credit in the scene, 

He takes up all, makes each man's wit iiis own : 
And, told of this, he slights it. Tut, such crimes 

The sluggish gaping auditor devours ; 
He marks not whose 'twas first: and after-times 

May judge it to be liis, as w^ell as curs. 
Fool ! as if half eyes will not know a fleece 
From locks of wool, or shreds from the whole piece. 

LVII. ON BAWDS AND tlSURERS. 

If, as their ends, their fruits were so the same, 
Bavrdry and usury were one kind of game. 

LVIII. TO GROOM IDIOT. 

Idiot, last night, I pra^^ed thee but forbear 
To read my verses ; now I must to hear : 
For offering, with thy smiles, my wit to grace, 
Thy ignorance still laughs in the wrong place. 
And so my sharpness thou no less disjoints, 
Than thou didst late my sense, losing my pointSo 
So have I seen at Christmas sports one lost, 
And hoodwinked, for a man embrace a post. 



EPIGRAMS. 563 

LIX. OX SPIES. 

Spies, you are lights in state, but of base stuff, 

Wiio, when you've burne^d yourselves down to the snuff, 

Si-ink, and are thrown away. End fair enough. 

LX. TO WILLIAjM LOED MOUNTEAGLE. 

Lo, what my country should have done (have raised 

An obelisk, or column to thy name. 
Or, if she would but modestly have praised 

Thy fact, in brass or marble writ the same) 
I, that am glad of thy great chance, here do ! 

And, proud my work shall outlast common deeds, 
Durst think it great, and worthy wonder too, 

But thine, for which I do't, so much exceeds ! 
My country's parents I have many known; 
But saver of my country thee alone. 

LXI. TO FOOL, OR KNAVE. 

Thy praise, or dispraise is to me alike. 

One doth not stroke me, nor the other strike. 

LXII. TO EINE LADY WOULD-BE. 

Fine Madame Would-be, w^herefore should you fear, 

That love to make so well, a child to bear? 

The world reputes you barren ; but I know 

Your 'pothecary, and his di'ug says no. 

Is it the pain affrights'? That's soon forgot. 

Or your complexion's loss? You have a pot 

That can restore that. Will it hurt your feature ? 

To make amends, you're thought a wholesome creature. 

What should the cause be? Oh, you live at court: 

And there's both loss of time, and loss of sport 

In a great belly. Write then on thy womb, 

"Of the not born, yet buried, here's the tomb." 

LXIII. TO ROBERT, EARL OF SALISBURY. 

Who can consider thy right courses run. 
With what thy virtue on the times hath won. 
And not thy fortune? Who can clearly see 
The judgment of the king so shine in thee; 



264 BEN JONSON. 

And that thou seek'st reward of thy each act^ 
Not from the pubhc vcice, but private fact? 
^Yho can behold all envy so declined 
By constant suffering of thy equal mind, 
And can to these be silent, Salisbury, 
Without his, thine, and all time's injury'? 
Cursed be his Muse, that could lie dumb, or hid 
To so true worth, thou3-h thou thyself forbid. 

LXIY. TO TI-IE SAME. 
UPON THE ACCESSION OF THE TKEASUllERSHIP TO HIM. 

Not glad, like those that have new hopes, cr suits, 

With thy new place, bring I these early fruits 

Of love, and, what the golden rge did hold 

A treasure, art, contemned in th' age of gold. 

Nor glad as those, that old dependents be, 

To see thy father's rights nev/ laid on thee. 

Nor glad for fashion ; nor to shoT\' a lit 

Of flattery to thy titles, nor of wit. 

But I am glad to see that time survive, 

Where merit is not sepulcherd alive; 

Where good men's virtues them to honors bring. 

And not to dangers ; vrhen so wise a king 

Contends t' have worth enjoy, from his regard. 

As her ow2i conscience, still, the same reward. 

These, noblest Cecil, labored in my thought, 

Wherein what wonder see thy name hath wrought! 

That whilst I meant but thine to gratulate, 

I've sung the greater fortunes of our state. 

LXV. TO MY MUSE. 

Away, and leave me, thou thing most abhorred 
That hast betrayed me to a worthless lord ; 
Made me commit most fierce idolatry 
To a great image through thy luxury. 
Be thy next master's more unlucky Muse, 
Anck as thou'st mine, his hours and youth abuse. 
Get him the time's long grudge, the court's ill-will, 
And, reconciled, keep him suspected stilL 



BPIORAMS. 265 

Make him lose all his friends, riiicl, which is worse, 
Almost all ways to any better course. 
With me thou leav'st a hapj^ier muse than thee. 
And which thou brought'st me, welcome Poverty 
S-ie shall instruct my after-thoughts to write 
Thiui^-s manly, and not smelling parasite. 
But I repent me: stay — Whoe'er is raised, 
For worth he has not, he is taxed, not praised. 

LXVI. TO SIK HENEY CAEY.* 

That neither fame nor love might wanting be 

To greatness, Gary, I sing that, and thee ; 

Whose house, if it no other honor had. 

In only thee, might ba both great and glad; 

Wiio, to upbraid the sloth of this our time, 

Durst valor make almost, but not a crime. 

Wliich deed I know not, whether were more high. 

Or thou more happy, it to justify 

Against thy fortune; when no foe, that day. 

Could conquer thee, but chance, who did betray. 

Love thy great loss, which a renown hath won, 

To live when Bi'oeck not stands, nor Rjor doth run.f 

Love honors, w^hich of best example be. 

When they cost dearest, and are done most free. 

Though every fortitude deserves applause, 

It miy be much, or little, in the cause. 

He's valiaut'st, that dares fight, and not for i^ay-, 

That virtuous is, when the reward's away. 

LXVII. TO THOMAS, EAEL OF SUFFOLK. 

Since men have left to do praiseworthy things. 
Most think all praises flatteries. But truth brings 

* The first Lonl Falkland, son of Sir Edward Gary, and father of the gal- 
lant Lucius, Lord Falkland. Sir Henry Gary was appointed by King James, 
Lord Deputy of Ireland. He died lG-20, in consequence of having broken 
his leg on a stand at Theobald's. 

t The castle and river near where he was taken. — Xote by Joxsox. The 
incident occurred in 1C05, when Spinola defeated Gount Maurice in an at- 
tempt made by the latter to surprise one of his covering parties at the pass- 
age of the Eoor. 



266 BEN JONSOI^. 

That sound, and that authority with her name, 
As. to be raised by her, is onh^ fame. 
Stand high, then, Howard, hig'h in eyes of men, 
High in thy blood, thy place, but highest then. 
When, in men's wishes, so thy virtues wrought. 
As all thy honors w^ere by them first sought ; 
And thou designed to be the same thou art, 
Before thou wert it, in each good man's heart. 
Which, by no less confirmed, than thy king's choice, 
Proves that is God's, which was the people's voice. 

LXTIII. ON PLAYWRIGHT. 

Playwright, convict of public wrongs to men, 
Takes private beatings, and begins again. 
Two kinds of valor he doth show at once: 
Active in's brain, and passive in his bones. 

LXIX. TO PERTINAX COB. 

Cob, thou nor soldier, thief, nor fencer art, 

Yet by thy weapon liv'st: thou'st one good part. 

LXS. TO WILLIAM ROE. 

AYhen Nature bids us leave to live, 'tis late 
Then to begin, my Roe ! He makes a state 
In life, that can emj^loy it ; and takes hold 
On the true causes, ere they grow too old. 
Delay is bad, doubt worse, dei^ending worst ; 
Each best day of our life escapes us first. 
Then, since we,-more than many, these truths know. 
Though life be short, let us not make it so. 

LXXI. ON COURT PARROT. 

To pluck down mine. Poll sets up new wits still, 
Still, 'tis his luck to praise me 'gainst his will. 

LXXII. TO COURTLING. 

I grieve not, Courtling, thou art started up 
A chamber-critic, and dost dine and suji 
At madam's table, wdiere thou mak'st all Avit 
Go high or low, as thou w^ilt value it. 
'Tis not thy judgment breeds the jDrejudice, 
Thy person only, Courtling, is the vice. 



EPIGRAMS. 267 

LXXIII. TO FINE GRAND. 

What is't, fine Grand, makes thee my friendship fly 

Or take an epigram so fearfully, 

As 'twere a challenge, or a borrower's letter? 

The world must know^ your greatness is my debtor. 

Imprimis, Grand, you owe me for a jest 

I lent you, on mere acquaintance, at a feast. 

Item, a tale or two, some fortnight after. 

That yet maintains you and your house in laughter. 

Item, the Babylonian song you sing ; 

Item, a fair Greek posy for a ring: 

"With which a learned madam you belie. 

Item, a charm surrounding fearfully. 

Tour partie-per-pale picture, one half drawn 

In solemn cypress, th' other cobweb lawn. 

Item, a gulling imprese for you, at tilt. 

Item, your mistress' anagram, i' your hilt. 

Item, your own, sewed in your mistress' smock. 

Item, an epitaph on my lord's cock. 

In most vile verses, and cost me more pain, 

Than had I made ''em good, to fit your vein. 

Forty things more, dear Grand, which you know true, 

For w^hich, or pay me quickly, or I'll pay you. 

LXXIV. TO THOMAS. LORD CHANCELOR EGERTON. 

Whilst thy weighed judgments, Egerton, I hear. 

And know thee, then, a judge not of one 3'ear; 

Whilst I behold thee live wdth'purest hands; 

That no affection in thy voice commands ; 

That still thou'rt present to the better cause; 

And no less wise, than skillful in the laws ; 

Whilst thou art certain to thy words, once gone, 

As is thy conscience, which is always one: 

The Virgin, long since fled from earth, I see, 

To our times returned, *hath made her heaven in thee» 

LXXV. ON LIPPE, THE TEACHER. 

I can not think there's that antipathy 

'Twixt puritans and players, as some cry; 

Though Lippe, at Paul's, ran from his text away. 

To inveigh 'gainst plays, — what did he then but play? 



268 BEN JONSON. 

LXXYI. ON LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. 

This morning, timely rapt ^'itli lioly fire, 

I tliougbt to form unto my zealous muse, 
"What kind of creature I could most desire. 

To honor, serve, and love, as poets use. 
I meant to make her fair, and free, and wise, 

Of greatest blood, and yet more good than great; 
I meant the day-star should not brighter rise, 

Nor lend like influence from his lucent seat. 
I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet, 

Hating that solemn vice of greatness, pride ; 
I meant each softest virtue there should meet, 

Fit in that softer bosom to reside. 
Only a learned and a manly soul 

I purposed her, that should, with even powers, 
The rock, the sj^indle, and the shears control 

Of destiny, and spin her own free hours. 
Such w4ien I meant to feign, and wished to see, 
My muse bade, Bedford write, and that was she ! 

LXXVII. TO ONE THAT DESIRED ME NOT TO NAME HIM. 

Be safe, nor fear thyself so good a fame. 
That, any way, my book should speak thy name ; 
For, if thou shame, ranked with my friends, to go, 
I'm more ashamed to have thee thought my foe. 

LXXVIII. TO HORNET. 

Hornet, thou hast thy wife dressed for the stall. 
To draw thee custom ; but herself gets all. 

LXXIX. TO ELIZABETH, COUNTESS OF RUTLAND. 

That 2:)oets are far rarer births than kings, 

Your noblest father proved; like whom, before, 
Or then, or since, about our Muses' springs, 

Came not that soul exhausted so their store. 
Hence was it, that the destinies decreed 

(Save that most masculine issue of his brain) 
No male unto him: who could so exceed 

Nature, they thought, in all that he would feign. 



EriGRAMS. 269 

A.t wliicli, she happily displeased, made you; 

On whom, if he were living now, to look, 
He should those rare and absolute numbers view, 

As he would burn, or better far his book. 

LXXX. OF LIFE AND DEATH. 

The ports of death are sins; of life, good deeds: 
Throusfh which our merit leads us to our meeds. 
How wilful blind is he, then, that would stray, 
And hath it in his powers to make his way! 
This world death's region is, the other life's : 
And here it should be one of our first strifes 
So to front death as men might judge us past it: 
For good men but see death, the wicked taste it. 

LXXXI. TO PROWLE, THE PLAGIARY. 

Forbear to tempt me, Prowle, I will not show 
A line unto thee, till the world it know ; 
Or that I've by two good sufficient men. 
To be the wealthy witness of my pen:* 
For all thou hear'st, thou swear'st thyself didst do, 
Thy wit lives by it, Prowle, and belly too. 
Which, if thou leave not soon, though I am loth, 
I must a libel make, and cozen both. 

LXXXII. ON CASHIERED CAPTAIN SURLY. 

Surly's old whore in her new silks doth swim: 
He cast, yet keeps her well! No; she keejDS him. 

LXXXIII. TO A FRIEND. 

To put out the word whore, thou dost me woo. 
Throughout my book. Troth, put out woman too. 

LXXXIV. TO LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. 

Madam, I told you late how I repented, 
I asked a lord a buck, and he denied me; 

And, ere I could a.-,k you, I was prevented. 
For your most noble offer had supplied me. 

* A pure Latiiiit\- : testis locuples is the phrase for a full and sufficient 
evidence. Whalley. 



270 BEN JONSON. 

Straight went I home ; and there, most like a poet, 
I fancied to myself, what wine, what wit 

I would have s^Dent; how every Muse should know it, 
And Phoebus' self should be at eating it. 

Oh Madam, if your grant did thus transfer me, 

Make it your gift! See wliither that will bear me. 

LXXXV. TO SIR HENRY GOODYEEE. 

Goodyere, I'm glad and grateful to report 

Myself a witness to i\\y few days' sport : 

Where I both learned why wise men hawking follow. 

And why that bird was sacred to Apollo ; 

She doth instruct men by her gallant flight, 

That they to knowledge so should tower ujDright, 

And never stoop but to strike ignorance ; 

Which, if they miss, they yet should re-advance 

To former hight, and there in circle tarry, 

Till they be sure to make the fool their quarry. 

Now, in whose pleasures I have this discerned. 

What would his serious actions me have learned? 

LXXXVI. TO THE SAME. 

When I would know thee, Goodyere, my thought looks 

Upon thy well-made choice of friends and books; 

Then do I love thee, and behold thy ends 

In making thy friends books, and thy books friends : 

Now, I must give thy life and deed the voice 

Attending such a study, such a choice ; 

Where, though 't be love, that to thy praise doth move, 

It was a knowledge that begat that love. 

LXXXVII. ON CAPTAIN HAZARD, THE CHEATER. 

Touched with the sin of false play, in his punk, 
Hazard a month forswore his ; and grew drunk 
Each night to drown his cares; but when the gain 
Of what she'd wrought came in, and waked his brain, 
Upon th' account, hers grew the quicker trade ; 
Since when, he's sober again, and all play's made. 

LXXXVIII. ON ENGLISH MONSIEUR. 

Would you believe, when you this Monsieur see, 
That his whole body should speak French, not he ? 



EPIGRAMS. 271 

That so niiicli scarf of France, and hat, and feather, 
Aud shoe, and tie, and garter should come hither, 
And land on one ^Yhose face durst never be 
Toward the sea, farther than half-way tree? 
That he, untraveled, should be French so much. 
As Frenchmen in his company should seem Dutch? 
O..' hal his father, when he did him get. 
The French disease, with wddch he labors yet? 
Or hung some Monsieur's picture on the wall. 
By wlii^^li hi3 dam conceived him, clothes and all. 
Or is it s )me French statue? No; 't doth move. 
And st )op, and cringe. Oh, then, it needs must prove 
The \\2\Y French tailor's motion, monthly made, 
Daily to turn in Paul's, and help the trade. 

LXXXIX. TO EDWARD ALLEN. 

If Rome S3 great, and in her wisest age, 
Feared not to boast the glories of her stage. 
As skillful Roscius, and grave JEsop, men. 
Yet crowned with honors, as with riches, then; 
Who had no less a trumpet of their name 
Than Cicero, whose every breath was fame; 
How can so great example die in me. 
That. Allen, I should pause to publish thee? 
Who both their graces in thyself hast more 
Outstripped, than they did all that went before ; 
And present w^orth in all dost so contract. 
As others speak, but only thou dost act. 
Wear this renown. 'Tis just, that who did give 
So many poets life, by one should live. 

XC. ON MILL, MY LADY S WOMAN. 

W^hen Mill first came to court, the unprofiting fool, 
Unwjrthy such a mistress, such a school, 
Was dull, and long ere she would go to man ; 
At last, ease, appetite, and example wan 
The nicer thing to taste her lady's page; 
And, finding good security in his age, 
Went on; and proving him still, day by day. 
Discerned no difference of his years or play. 



272 BEI^ JONSOi^. 

Not though that hair grew brown, which once was 

amber, 
And he grown youth, was called to his ladj^'s chamber. 
Still Mill continued: nay, his face growing worse, 
And he removed to gentleman of the horse. 
Mill was the same. Since, both his bod}' and face 
Blown up ; and he (too unwieldy for that place) 
Hath got the steward's chair ; he will not tarry 
Longer a day, but with his Mill will marry. 
And it is hoped, that she, like Milo, wull 
First bearing him a calf, bear him a bull. 

XCI. TO SIR HORACE YERE. 

Which of thy names I take, not only bears 

A Roman sound, but Roman virtue wears, 

Illustrious Vere, or Horace, fit to be 

Sung by a Horace, or a muse as free ; 

Which thou art to thyself: whose fame was won 

In tha eye of Europe, where thy deeds were done, 

When on thy trumpet she did sound a blast. 

Whose relish to eternity shall last. 

I leave thy acts, which should I prosecute 

Throughout, might flattery seem ; and to be mute 

To any one, were envy : which would live 

Against my grave, and time could not forgive. 

I speak thy other graces, not less shown. 

Nor less in practice, but less marked, less known ; 

Humanity and piety, which are 

As noble in great chiefs as they are rare. 

And best become the valiant man to wear. 

Who more should seek men's reverence, than fear. 

XCII. THE NEW CRY. 

Ere cherries ripe ! and strawberries ! be gone, 

Unto the cries of London I'll add one; 

Ripe statesmen, ripe! They grow in every street; 

At six-and-twenty, ripe. You shall them meet. 

And have them yield no savor but of state. 

Ripe are their ruffs, their cuffs, their beards, their gait, 

And grave as ripe, like mellow as their faces. 

They know the states of Christendom, not the places j 



EPianAMS. 273 

Yet they 1 ave seen the mai^s, and bought them too, 

And underst.ind them, as most chapmen do. 

The councils, projects, practices they know, 

And what er.ch prince doth for intelUgence owe, 

And unto whom: they are the almanacks 

For twelve years yet to come, what each state lacks 

They carry in their pockets Tacitus, 

And the Gazetti, or Gallo-Belgicus . 

And talk reserved, locked up, and full of fear; 

Nay, ask you how the day gees, in your ear. 

Keep a Star-chamber sentence close twelve days, 

And whisper what a proclamaticn says. 

They meet in sixes, and at every mart 

Are'^sure to con the catalogue by heart; 

Or, every day, some one at Rimee's looks, 

Or Bill's, and there he buys the names of books. 

They all get Porta,* for the sundry ways 

To write in cipher, and the several keys 

To ope the character. They've found the sleight 

With juice of lemons, onions, piss, to write. 

To break up seals, and close them. And they know 

If the States make [not]t peace, how it will go 

With England. All forbidden books they get, 

And of the Powder-plot they will talk yet. 

At naming the French king, their heads they shake, 

And at the Pope and Spain slight faces make. 

Or 'gainst the bishops, for the brethren rail 

Much like those brethren ; thinking to prevail 

With ignorance on us, as they have done 

On them ; and, therefore, do not only shun 

Others more modest, but contemn us too. 

That know not so much state, wrong, as they do. 

XCIII. TO SIR JOHN RATCLIFFE. 

How like a column, Ratcliffe, left alone 

For the great mark of virtue, those being gone 



* Tlie first two were booksellers ; the last was the famous Xeai)olitan 
Joliaimes Baptista Porta, who has a treatise extant in Latin. De furtivis 
literarum notis, vulgo de Ziferis, priiited at Naples, 1563. He died In 1G15.- 

■\VH ALLEY. 

t The word iu brackets is inserted by Giliora. 



^74 BEN J0N80N. 

Who did, alike with thee, thy house upbear, 

Stand'st thou, to show the times what you all were! 

Two bravely in the battlefield fell, and died. 

Upbraiding rebels' arms, and barbarous pride; 

And two that would have fallen as great as they, 

The Belgic fever ravished away. 

Thou, that art all their valor, all their spirit. 

And thine own goodness to increase thy merit, 

Than whose I do not know a Vvdiiter soul. 

Nor could I, had I seen all Nature's roll ; 

Thou yet remain'st, unhurt in j^eace or war. 

Though not unproved; which shows thy fortunes are 

Willing to expiate the fault in thee, 

Wherewith, against thy blood, the offenders be. 

XCIV. TO LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD, WITH MR. DONNe's 

SATIRES. 

Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who are 

Life of the Muses' day, their morning star! 

If works, not the authors, their own grace should look, 

Whose poems would not wish to be your book? 

But these, desired by you, the maker's ends 

Crown with their own. Rare poems ask rare friends. 

Yet, satires, since the most of mankind be 

Their unavoided subject, fewest see; 

For none e'er took that pleasure in sin's sense. 

But when they heard it taxed, took more offense. 

They, then, tliat living where the matter's bred, 

Dare for these poems yet both ask and read, 

And like them too ; must needfully, though few, 

Be of the best ; and 'mongst those, best are you; 

Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who are 

The Muses' evening, as their morning star. 

XCV. TO SIR HENRY SAVILLE.* 

If, my religion safe, I durst embrace 
That stranger doctrine of Pythagoras, 
I should believe the soul of Tacitus 

* The fouuder of tlie Professorsbip which bears his name at Oxford, au(l 
one of the most learued men of his agf 



EPIGRAMS. 275 

In thee, most weighty Saville, Hved to us: 

So hast thou rendered him in all his bounds, 

And all his numbers, both of sense and sounds. 

But when I read that special piece, restored, 

Where Nero falls, and Gr;ilba is adored. 

To thine own proper I ascribe then more, 

And gratulate the breach I grieved before; 

Which fate, it seems, caused in the histor}', 

Onl}^ to boast thy merit in supply. 

Oh, wouldst thou add like hand to all the rest ! 

Or, better work ! Were tby glad country blessed 

To have her story woven in thj^ thread, 

Minerva's loom was never richer spread. 

For who can master those great parts like thee, 

That liv'st from hope, from fear, from faction free*? 

Thou hast tby breast so clear of potent ciimes, 

Thou need'st not shrink at voice of aftertimes ; 

Whose knowledge claimeth at the helm to stand, 

But wisely thrusts not forth a forward hand, 

No more than Sallust in the Roman state: 

As t^ien his cause, his glory emulate. 

Although to write be lesser than to do, 

It is the next deed, and a great one too. 

We need a man that knows the several graces 

Of history, and how to apt their places ; 

Where brevit}", where splendor, and where height, 

Where sweetness is required, and where weight; 

We need a man can speak of the intents. 

The councils, actions, orders, and events 

Of states, and censure them; we need his pen 

Can write the things, the causes, and the men ; 

But most we need his faith (and all have you) 

That dares not write things false, nor hide things true. 

XCVI. TO JOHX DOXNE. 

Who shall doubt, Donne, where* I a poet be. 
When I dare send ni}^ Epigrams to thee, 

^ ._ . — — — — ■ rt- »<- 

* Wlietber — a common form of contraction. 



276 BEN JONSOK 

That so alone canst judge, alone dost make;* 

And in thy censures evenly dost take 

As free simplicity, to disavow, 

As thou hast best authority t' allow? 

Read all I send; and if I lind but one 

Mirked by thy hand, and with the better stone. 

My title's sealed. Those thai for claps do write, 

Let pui'nees', porters', players' praise delight. 

And, till they burst, their backs, like asses, load: 

A man should seek great glory, and not broad. 

XCVII. ON THE NEW MOTION, f 

See you jon motion? Not the old fa-ding, 

Nor Captain Pod, nor yet the Eltham thing; 

But one more rare, and in the case so new: 

His cloak with orient velvet lined quite through; 

His rosy ties and garters so o'erblown. 

By his each glorious parcel to be known ! 

He wont was to encounter me aloud, 

Where'er he met me; — now he's dumb or proud. 

Know you the cause? He has neither land nor lease, 

Nor bawdy stock that travels for increase, 

Nor office in the town, nor place in court. 

Nor 'bout the bears, nor noise to make lords sport. 

He is no favorite's favorite, no dear trust 

Of any madam, hath need o' sc[uires, and must. 

Nor did the King of Denmark him salute, 

When he was here ; nor hath he got a suit 

Since he was gone, more than the one he wears. 

Nor are the queen's most honored maids by th' ears 

About his form. What then so swells each limb? 

Only his clothes have over-leavened him. 

XCVIII. TO SIR THOMAS ROE. 

Thou hast begun well. Roe, which stand well to, 
And I know nothing more thou hast to do. 
He that is round within himself, and straight. 
Need seek no other streno-th, no other height; 



"A sliu'lit lilxity liiis incii liilvrii Willi this line to adjust the measure. 
The folio iv;itls — 

'• Th;it so nloiic canst jiulirc, so alone dost make." 
\ A puppet-show. The term was sometimes applied to a puppet. 



EPIGEAMS. 277 

Fortune upon him breaks herself, if ill, 

And what would hurt his virtue, makes it still. 

That thou at once then nobly mayst defend 

With thine own course the judgment of thy friend. 

Be always to thy gathered self the same ; 

And study conscience more than thou wouldst fame. 

Though both be good, the latter yet is worst, 

And ever is ill got without the first. 

XCIX. TO THE SAME. 

That thou hast kept thy love, increased thy will, 
Bettered th}' trust to letters ; that thy skill 
Hast taught thyself worthy thy j^en to tread: 
And that to write things worthy to be read; 
How much of great example wert thou, Roe, 
If time to facts, as unto men would owe? 
But much it now avails, what's done, of whom. 
The selfsame deeds, as diversely they come, 
From place or fortune, are made high or low, 
And e en the praiser's judgment suffers so. 
Well, though thy name less than our great ones be. 
Thy fact is more ; let truth encourage thee. 

C. ON PLAr'^VIlIGHT. 

Playwright, by chance, hearing some toys Id writ, 
Cried to my face, they were th' elixir of wit: 
And I must now believe him ; for to-day 
Five of my jests then stolen, past him a play. 

CI. INVITING A FEIEND TO SUPPER. 

To-night, grave sir, both my poor house and I 

Do equally desire your company: 

Not that we think us worthy such a guest, 

But that your worth will dignify our feast, [seem 

With those that come; whose grace may make that 

Something, which else could hope for no esteem. 

It is the fair acceptance, sir. creates 

The entertainment perfect, not the cates. 

Yet shall you have, to rectify your palate, 

An olive, capers, or some bitter salad 



278 BEN JONSON. 

Ushering the mutton ; with a short-legged hen, 

If we can get her, full of eggs, and then, 

Lemons, and wine for sauce : to these, a coney 

Is not to be desj^aired of for our money ; 

And though fowl now be scarce, yet there are clerks, 

The sky not falling, think we may have larks. 

I'll tell you of more, and lie, so you will come: 

Of partridge, pheasant, woodcock, of which some 

May yet be there ; and godwit if we can ; 

Knat, rail, and ruff, too. Howsoe'er, my man 

Shall read a piece of Virgil, Tacitus, 

Livy, or of some better book to us, 

Of which we'll speak our minds, amidst our meat; 

Aiid I'll profess no verses to repeat: 

To this if aught appear, which I not know of. 

That will the pastry, not my paper, show of. 

Digestive cheese, and fruit there sure will be ; 

But that which most doth take my muse and me, 

Is a pure cup of rich Canary wine, 

Whi?h is the Mermaid's now, but shall be mine: 

Of which had Horace, or Anacreon tasted. 

Their lives, as do their lines, till now had lasted. 

Tobacco, nectar, or the Thespian spring, 

Are all but Luther's beer, to this I sing. 

Of this we will sup free, but moderately. 

And we will have no Pooly' or Parrot by; 

Nor shall our cups make any guilty men; 

But at our parting, we will be, as when 

We innocently met. No simple word 

That shall be uttered at our mirthful board, 

Shall make us sad next morning; or affright 

The liberty that we'll enjoy to-night. 

CII. TO WILLIAM, EARL OF PEMBROKE. 

I do but name thee, Pembroke, and I find 
lb is an ej^igram on all mankind; 
Against the bad, but of, and to, the good: 
Both which are asked, to have thee understood. 
Nor could the age have missed thee in this strife 
Of Yice and virtue, wherein all great life 



AJmost is exercised; and scarce one knows 

To which, yet, of the sides he owes. 

They follow virtue for reward to-day ; 

To-morrow vice, if she give better pay ; 

And are so good, and bad, just at a price, 

As notliing else discerns the virtue or vice. 

But thou, w^hose noblesse keeps one stature still, 

And one true posture, though besieged with ill 

Of what ambition, faction, 2)ride can raise ; 

Whose life, even they that envy it, can praise ; 

That art so reverenced, as thy coming in, 

But in the view, doth interrupt their sin ; 

Thou must draw more: and they that hope to see 

The commonwealth still safe, must study thee. 

cm. TO MY LADY MAKY WROTH. 

How well, fair crown of your fair sex, might he 

That but the twilight of your sprite did see, 

And noted for what flesh such souls were framed. 

Know you to be a Sidney, though unnamed! 

And, being named, how little doth that name 

Need any muse's praise to give it fame, 

Which is, itself, the impress of the great, 

And glory of them all, but to repeat! 

Forgive me then, if mine but say 3'ou are 

A Sidney : but in that extend as far 

As loudest praisers, who perhaps would find 

For every part a character assigned. 

My praise is plain, and whereso'er professed. 

Becomes none more than you, who need it least. 

CIV. TO SUSAN, COUNTESS OF MONTGOMERY. 

Were they that named you, prox)hets? Did they see, 

Even in the dew of grace, what you would be ? 

Or did our times require it, to behold 

A new Susanna, equal to that old? - 

Or, because some scarce think that story true. 

To make those faithful, did the Fates send you? 

And to your scene lent no less dignity 

Of birth, of match, of form, of chastity ; 



280 BE'<f J0N80N. 

Or, more than born for the comjDarison 

Of former age, or glory of our own, 

Were you advanced, past those times, to be 

The light and mark unto posterity? 

Judge they that can: here I have raised to show, 

A picture, which the world for yours must knoWj 

And like it too, if they look equally ; 

If not, 'tis fit for you some should envy. 

CV. TO MARY LADY WROTH. 

Madam, had all antiquity been lost, 

All history sealed up, and fables crossed. 

That we had left us, nor by time, nor place 

Least mention of a nymph, a muse, a grace. 

But even their names w^ere to be made anew, 

Who could not but create them all, from you? 

He, that but saw you wear the wheaten hat, 

Would call you more than Ceres, if not that ; 

And, dressed in shepherd's tire, who would not say 

You were the bright OEnone, Flora, or May? 

If dancing, all would cry the Idalian Queen 

Were leading forth the Graces on the green; 

And, armed to the chase, so bare her bow 

Diana alone, so hit, and hunted so. 

There's none so dull that for your st3de would ask, 

That saw you put on Pallas' plumed casque ; 

Or, keeping your du3 state, that w^ould not cry. 

There Juno s.ate, and yet no peacock by ; 

So you are Nature's index, and restore, 

r yourself, all treasure lost of th' age before. 

CVI. TO SIR EDWARD HERBERT. 

If men get name for some one virtue, then 
What man art thou that art so many men. 
All-virtuous Herbert! On whose every part 
Truth might spend all her voice, Fame all her art? 
Whether thy learning they would take, or wit. 
Or valor, or thy judgment, seasoning it. 
Thy standing upright to thyself, thy ends 
Like straight, thy piety to God, and friends j 



EPIGRAMS. 281 

Tlieir latter praise would still the greatest be, 
And yet tliey, all together, less than tliee. 

CVII, TO CAPTAIN HUNGRY.* 

Do what you come for, captain, with your news. 

That's sit, and eat; do not my ears abuse. 

I oft look on false coin to know't from true ; 

Not that I loye it more than I will you. 

Tell the gross Dutch those grosser tales of 3'ours, 

How great you were with their two emperors ; 

And yet are with their princes: fill them full 

Of your Morayian horse, Venetian bull ; 

Tell them what parts you'ye taen, whence run away, 

What states youVe gulled, and which yet keeps you in 

Give them your seryices, and embassies [p^JJ 

In Ireland, Holland, S^yeden, pompous lies! 

In Hungary, and Poland. Turkey too ; 

AVliat at Ligorne, Kome, Florence you did do; 

And, in some year, all these together heaped, 

For which there must more sea and land be leaped, 

If but to be believed you have the hap. 

Than can a flea at twice skij) i' the map. 

Give your 3^oung statesmen (that first make you drunk, 

And then lie with you, closer than a punk. 

For news) your Villeroys, and Silleries, 

Janins, your Nuncios, and your Tuileries, 

Your Archdukes' agents, and your Beringhams, 

That are your words of credit. Keep your names 

Of Hannow, Sliieter-huissen, Popenheim, 

Hans-spiegel, Rotteinberg, and Bautersheim, 

For your next meal; this 3'ou are sure of. Why 

Will you part with them here, unthriftily? 

Nay, now you 23uff, tusk, and draw up your chin. 

Twirl the poor chain you run a feasting in : — 

.Come, be not angry, you are Hungry, eat ; 

Do what you come for, captain, there's your meat. 

* In this o]ii<zrnin we have the tyite of a class nf niai-aiideis In- whom the 
conntry beciniie infested early in the ieij.ni of James !.. the ferocious. <ras- 
conadiiiir. and diss(dute s<ddiei-s of foitiuie wlio wefe disbanded at tlie sud- 
den close of tlio h>nji war between Eiiirland and Spain, and. castin" them- 
selves upou the community, lived by f:aiids and impudent lies. 



282 BEN JONSON. 

C^^II. TO TRUE SOLDIERS. 

Strength of my country, whilst I bring to view, 
Such as are miscalled captains, and wrong you, 
And your high names ; I do desire that thence 
Be nor put on you, nor you take offense. 
I swear by your true friend, my muse, I love 
Your great profession, which I once did prove ; 
And did not shame it with my actions then 
No more than I dare now do with my pen. 
He that not trusts me, having vowed thus much, 
But's angry for the captain, still, — is such. 

CIX. TO SIR HENRY NEVIL. 

Who now calls on thee, Nevil, is a muse 

That serves nor fame nor titles; but doth choose 

Where virtue makes them both, and that's in thee, 

Where all is fair beside thy pedigree. 

Thou art not one seek'st miseries with hope, 

AVrestlest with dignities, or feign'st a scope 

Of service to the public, when the end 

Is private gain, which hath long guilt to friend. 

Thou rather striv'st the matter to possess, 

And elements of honor, than the dress; 

To make thy lent life good against the Fates ; 

And first to know thine own state, then the state's. 

To be the same in root thou art in height. 

And that thy soul should give thy flesh her weight. 

Go on, and doubt not what posterity. 

Now I have- sung thee thus, shall judge of thee. 

Thy deeds unto thy name will j^rove new wombs, 

Whilst others toil for titles to their tombs. 

ex. TO CLEMENT EDMONDS, 

ON nis Cesar's commentaries observed, and translated. 
Not Caesar's deeds, nor all his honors won, 
In these west parts ; nor, when that war was done. 
The name of Pompey for an enemy, 
Cato's to boot, Rome, and her liberty, 
All yie'ding to his fortune: nor, the while. 
To have engraved these acts v/ith his own style, 



SPiGRAMS. 283 

And that so strong and deep, as't might be thought, 
He wrote with the same spirit that he fought ; 
Nor that his work lived in the hands of foes 
Unargued then, and yet hath fame from those ; 
Not all these, Edmonds, or what else put to, 
Can so speak Caesar as thy labors do. 
For where his person lived scarce one just age,- - 
And that midst envy and parts, then fell by rage; 
His deeds too dying, but in books whose good 
How few have read ! How fewer understood ! — 
Thy learned hand, and true Promethean art. 
As by a new creation, part by part. 
In every counsel, stratagem, design, 
Action, or engine, worth a note of thine, 
T ' all future time not only doth restore 
Jlis life, but makes that he can die no more, 

CXI. TO THE SAME. ON THE SAME. 

"Who, Edmonds, reads thy book, and doth not see 

"What th' antique soldiers were, the modern be? 

Wherein thou show'st how much the later are 

Beholden to this master of the war ; 

And that in action there is nothing new, 

More than to vary what our elders knew ; 

Which all but ignorant captains will confess: 

Nor to give Caesar this, makes ours the less. 

Yet thou, perhaj^s, shalt meet some tongues will grutch 

That to the world thou shouldst reveal so much. 

And thence deprave thee and thy work: to those 

Caesar stands up, as from his urn late rose 

By thy great help, and doth proclaim by me, 

They murder him again that envy^ thee. 

CXII. TO A WEAK GAMESTER IN POETRY. 

With thy small stock why art thou venturing still 
At this so subtle sport, and play'st so ill"? 
Think'st thou it is mere fortune that can win. 
Or thy rank setting, that thou dar'st put in 
Thy all, at all ; and whatsoe'er I do, 
Ai"t still at that, and think'st to blow me up tool 



284 BEN JONSOl^. 

I can not for the stage a drama lay, 

Tragic or comic, but thou writ'st the play. 

I leave thee there, a,ncl, giving wa}^, intend 

An epic poem ; tliou hast the ^ame end. 

I modestly quit that, and think to write, 

Next morn, ctn ode : thou mak'st a song ere night. 

I pass to elegies; thou meet'st me there; 

To satires, and thou dost pursue me. Where, 

Where shall I 'scape thee? In an epigram? 

"Oh," thou criest out, "that is my proj^er game." 

Troth, if it be, I pity thy ill luck; 

That both for wit and sense so oft dost pluck, 

And never art encountered, I confess ; 

Nor scarce dost color for it, which is less. 

Prithee, yet save th}^ rest ; give o'er in time : 

There's no vexation that can make thee prime. 

CXIII. TO SIR THOMAS OVEKBURY. 

So Phoebus make me worthy of his bays. 

As but to speak thee, Overburv, 's praise : 

So where thou liv'st, thou mak'.st life understood. 

Where, what makes others great, doth keep thee good! 

I think, the fate of court thy coming craved. 

That the vvit there and niaimers might be saved: 

For since, what ignorance, whit pride is fled, 

And letters and humanity in the stead! 

Repent thee not of thy fair precedent. 

Could make such men and such a place repent, 

Nor may any fear to lose of their degree, 

/ V^ao in such aaibition can but follow thee. 
/ 

ex IV. TO MISTRESS PHILIP SIDNEY. 

I must believe some miracles still be, 
Wliere Sidney's name I hear, or face I see ; 
For Cupid, who at first took vain delight 
In mere out- forms, until he lost his sight. 
Hath changvid his soul, and made his object youj 
Wiiere, findiug so much beauty met with virtue, 
He hath not only gained himself his eyes, 
But, in your love, made all his servants wise. 



EPIGRAMS. 281 

CXV. ON THE town's HONEST MAN. 

You woiiJcr who this is, itiul wliv I name 

Hiiii not rJond, that boasts so o-qdcI a fcuno: 

Naming- so many, too! But this is one 

Suffers no name, but a description ; 

Being- no vicious person, but the Vice 

About the town : and known, too, at that price 

A suljtle thing that doth affections win 

By speaking well o" the comijany it's in. 

Talks loud and bawdy, has a gathered deal 

Of news and noise, to sow^ out a long meal. 

Can come from Tripoli, leaj^ stools, and wink, 

Do all that 'longs ta th' anarchy of drink. 

Except the duel ; can sing songs and catches ; 

Give every one his dose of mirth; and watches 

Whose name's unwelcome to the present ear. 

And him it lays on, — if he be not there. 

Tells of him all the tales itself then makes; 

But if it shall be questioned, undertakes 

It will deny all, and forswear it too; 

Not that it fears, but will not have to do 

With such a one, and therein keeps its word. 

'Twill see its sister naked, ere a sword. 

At every meal, where it doth dine or sup. 

The cloth's no sooner gone, but it gets up 

And, shifting of its faces, doth play more 

Parts than the Italian could do with his door; 

Acts old Iniquity ; and, in the fit 

Of miming, gets th' opinion of a wit; 

Executes men in picture; b}' defect, 

From friendship, is its own fame's architect; 

An engineer in slanders of all fashions, 

That, seeming praises, are yet accusations. 

Described, it's thus: defined would you it have? 

Then, the town's honest man's her arrant'st knave. 

CXVI. TO SIR WILLIAM JEPHSON. 

Jephson, thou man of men. to whose loved name 
All gentry yet owe part of their best fame! 



286 ^^i^ Jo^''so:^. 

So did tliy virtue inform, tby wit sust lin 

That age, when thou stood'st up the master-brain: 

Thou wert the first mad'st merit know her strength ; 

And those that lacked it, to suspect, at length, 

'Twas not entailed on title; that some word 

Might be found out as good, and not '■'my Lord;'* 

That Nature no such difference had impressed 

In men, but every bravest w^as the best : 

That blood not minds, but minds did blood ad )rn; 

And to live great was better than great born. 

These were thy knowing arts; which who doth now 

Virtuously practice, must at least allow 

Them in, if not from thee, or must commit 

A desperate solecism in truth and wit. 

CXVII. ON GROINE. 

Groine, come of age, his 'state sold out of hand 
For 's whore ; Groine doth still occupy his land. 

CXVIII. ON GUT. . 

Gut eats all day, and lechers all the night, 
So all his meat he tasteth over twice ; 

And, striving so to double his delight, 
He makes himself a thoroughfare of vice. 

Thus, in his belly, can he change a sin, 

Lust it comes out, that gluttony w^ent in. 

CXIX. TO SIR RALPH SHELTON. 

Not he that flies the court for want of clothes 
At hunting rails, having no gift in oaths. 
Cries out 'gainst cocking, since he can not bet, 
Shuns prease, for two main causes, j^ox and debt; 
"With me can merit more than that good man. 
Whose dice not doing well, to a pulpit ran. 
No, Shelton, give me thee, canst want all these, 
But dost it out of judgment, not disease; 
Dar'st breathe in any air, and with safe skill. 
Till thou canst find the best, choose the least ill; 
That to the vulgar canst thyself apply, 
Treading a better path, not contrary ; 



EPIGRAMS. 287 

And, in tlieir error's maze, tliine own way know; 

Which is to hve to conscience, not to show. 

He that, but hving half his age, dies such. 

Makes the whole longer than 'twas given him, mnch. 

CXX. EPITAPH ON S. P., A CHILD OF QUEEN ELIZABETH'S 

CHAPEL. 

Weep with me all you that read 

This little story; 
And know, for whom a tear you shed, 

Death's self is sorry. 
'Twas a child, that so did thrive 

In grace and feature, 
As Heaven and Nature seemed to strive 

Which owned the creature. 
Years he numbered scarce thirteen 

When fates turned cruel ; 
Yet three filled zodiacs had he been 

The stage's jewel ; 
And did act, what now we moan, 

Old men so duly ; 
As, sooth, the Parcae thought him one 

He played so truly. 
So, by error, to his fate 

They all consented ; 
But viewing him since, alas, too late ! 

They have repented; 
And have sought, to give new birth. 

In baths to steep him ; 
But, being so much too good for earth, 

Heaven vows to keep him. 

CXXI. TO BENJAMIN RUDYERD. 

Rudyerd, as lesser dames to great ones use. 

My lighter comes to kiss thy learned muse ; 

Whose better studies while she emulates. 

She learns to know long difference of their states. 

Yet is the office not to be despised. 

If only love should make the action prized; 

Nor he for friendship can be thought unfit. 

That strives his manners should precede his wit. 



288 BEN JONSOK. 

CXXII. TO THE SAME. 

If I would wisli, for truth and not for show, 

The aged Saturn's age and rites to know; 

If I would strive to bring back times, and try 

The world's pure gold, and wise simplicity; 

If I would virtu3 set as she was young, 

And hear her speak with one, and her first tongue 

If holiest friendship, naked to the touch, 

I would restore, and keep it ever such; 

I need no other arts, but study thee. 

Who prov'st all these were, and again may be. 

CXXIII. TO THE SAME. 

Writing thyself, or judging others' writ, 
I know not which thou'st most, candor or wit; 
But both thou'st so, as who affects the state 
Of the best writer and judge, should emulate. 

CXXIY. EPITAPH ox ELIZABETH, L. H. 

Wouldst thou hear what man can say 

In a little ? Reader, stay. 

Underneath this stone doth lie 

As much beauty as could die; 

Which in life did harbor give 

To more virtue than doth live. 

If, at all, she had a fault 

Leave it buried in this vault. 

One name was Elizabeth. 

The other let it sleep with death. 

Fitter, where it died, to tell, 

Than that it lived at all. Farewell. 

CXXV. TO SIR Y/ILLIAM UYEDALE. 

Uvedale, thou piece of the first times, a man 
Made for what Nature could, or virtue can ; 
Bjtli whose dimensions lost, the world might fiuG 
Restored in thy body, and thy mind! 
Wiio sees a soul in such a body set, 
Might love the treasure for the cabinet. 



EPIGRAMS. 289 

Brit I, no child, no fool, respect the kind. 
The full, the flowing nrraces there enshrined; 
"Which, would the world not miscall flattery, 
I could adore, almost t' idolatry ! 

CXXVI. TO HIS LADY. THEN MRS. CAKY. 

Retired, with purpose your fair worth to praise, 
'Mongst Hampton shades, and Phoebus' grove of bays 
I plucked a branch; the jealous god did frown, 
And bade me lay th' usurped laurel down ; 
Said I wronged' him, and, which was more, his love. 
I answered, Daphne now no pain can prove. 
Phoebus replied. Bold head, it is not she, 
Gary my love is, Daphne but my tree. 

CXXVII. TO ESME, LORD AUBIGNY. 

Is there a hope that man would thankful be, 

If I should fail in gratitude to thee 

To whom I am so bound, loved Aubigny? 

No, I do, therefore, call posterity 

Into the debt; and reckon on her head 

How full of want, how swallowed up, how dead 

I and this muse had been, if thou hadst not 

Lent timely succors, and new life begot; 

So, all reward, or name, that grows to me 

By her attempt, shall still be owing thee. 

And. than this same, I know no abler way 

To thank thy benefits, which is, to pay. 

CXXVIII. TO WILLIAM ROE. 

Roe, and my joy to name, thou'rt now to go 

Countries and climes, manners and men to know, 

T' extract and choose the best of all these known. 

And those to turn to blood, and make thine own. 

May winds as soft as breath of kissing friends, 

Attend thee hence ; and there, may all thy ends, 

As the begiiming here, prove purely sw^eet, 

And perfect in a circle always meet ! 

So when we, blest with thy return, shall see 

Tbyself, with thy first thoughts brought home by thee. 



290 BEN JOJSfSOJSr. 

We each to other may this voice inspire ; — 
This is that good ^iie^ris, passed through fire, 
Throngii seas, storms, tempests ; aiid,embarked for hell, 
Came back untouched. This m:in hath traveled well. 

CXXIX. TO MIME. 

That not a pair of friends each other see. 

Bat the first question is, When one saw thee? 

Tliat there's no journey set, or thought upon, 

To Brentford, Hackney. Bow. but thou mak'st one; 

That scarce the town designeth any feast 

To which thourt not a week bespoke a guest; 

That still thou'rt made tlie supper's flag, the drum, 

The very call, to make all other come. 

Think'st thou, Mime, this is great? or, that they strive 

Whose noise shall keep thy miming most alive, 

Whilst thou dost raise some player from the grave, 

Outdance the babion, or outboast the brave ;* 

Or, mounted on a stool, thy face doth hit 

On some new gesture that's imputed wit? 

Oh, run not proud of this. Yet, take thy due. 

Thou dost outzany Cokely, Pod, nay, Gue, 

And thine own Coriat, too. But wouldst thou see, 

Men love thee not for this: they laugh at thee. 

CXXX. TO ALPHONSO FERRAB0SC0,t ON HIS BOOK. 

T(j urge, my loved Alphonso, that bold fame 

Of building towns, and making wild beasts tame, 

Which music had; or speak her known effects, 

That she removeth cares, sadness ejects, 

Declineth anger, j)ersuades clemency. 

Doth sweeten mirth, and highten piety. 

And is to a body, often, ill inclined, 

No less a sovereign cure than to the mind ; 

T ' allege that greatest men were not ashamed. 

Of old, even b}^ her practice to be famed; 

To say indeed, she were the soul of heaven, 

That the eighth sphere, no loss than planets seven, 



* Tliat is — (nitd.iiire tlie. bnboon, oi' outbonst t-lie bully, 
t Thr ctiinposi-r of tiit^ iiiii.si(M>f iiiost of Joiihoii's masques, to whose merila 
tJi" iioct (ill ctlier occasioMS beai's tlie warmest testimouy. 



JSPIGMAMS. 291 

Moved by lier order, and the niiitli more Ligh, 
Including all, were thence called liarmon}'; 
I vet bad uttered noihing on tliy part, 
When these were but the prai&^es of the art. 
But when I've said the proofs of all these be 
Shed in thy songs, 'tis true, but short of thee. 

CXXXI. TO THE SAME. 

When we do give, Alphonso, to the liglit 

A work of ours, we part with our own right; 

For then all mouths will judge, and tlieir own way. 

The learned have no more privilege than the lay. 

And though we could all men, all censures hear, 

W'^e ought not give them taste we bad an ear. 

For if the humorous world will talk at large, 

They should be fools, for me, at their own charge. 

Say this or that man they to thee prefer ; 

Even those for whom they do this, know they err; 

And would, being asked tlie truth, ashamed say, 

They were not to be named on the same day. 

Then stand unto thyself, not seek without 

For fame, with breath soon kindled, soon blown cut 

CXXXII. TO ME. JOSHUA SYLVESTER.* 

If to admire were to commend, my praise 
Might then both thee, thy work and merit raise: 
But, as it is, the child of ignorance. 
And utter stranger to all air of France, 
How can I speak of thy great pains, but err? 
Since they can only judge, that can confer. 
Behold! the reverend shade of Bartas stands 
Before my thought, and. in thy right, commands 
Tliat to the world I publish, for him, this: - 
"Bartas doth wish thy English now were his." 
So well in that are his inventions wrought, 
As his will now be the translation thought, 
Thine the original ; and France shall boast 
No more, those maiden glories she hath lost. 

♦ The trauslator of Bartas 



292 ^BN JONSOM. 

CXXXIII. ON THE FAMOUS VOYAGE.* 

No more let Greece her bolder fables tell 
Of Hercules, or Theseus going to hell, 
Orpheus, Ulysses : or the Latin Muse, 
With tales of Troy's just knight, our faiths abuse: 
We have a Sheltou, and a Heyden got, 
Had power to act, what they to feign had not. 
All that they boast of Styx, of Acheron, 
Cocytus, Phlegethon, ours have proved in one ; 
The filth, stench, noise : save only what was there 
Subtly distinguished, was confused here. 
Their wherry had no sail, too; ours had none: 
And in it, two more horrid knaves than Charon. 
Arses were heard to croak instead of frogs ; 
And for one Cerberus, the whole coast was dogs. 
Furies there wanted not ; each scold was ten. 
And for the cries of ghosts, women, and men. 
Laden with plaguesores and their sins, were heard, 
Lashed by their consciences, to die, afeard. 
Then let the former age, with this content her. 
She brought the poets forth, but ours th' adyenter. 

THE VOYAGE ITSELF. 

I sing the brave adventure of two wights, 
And pity 'tis, I can not call 'em knights : 
One was ; and he, for brawn and brain, right able 
To have been styled of King Arthur's table. 
The other was a squire of fair degree; 
But, in the action, greater man than he, 
Wiio gave, to take at his return from hell, 
His three for one. Now, lor dings, listen well. 

It was the day, what time the powerful moon 
Makes the poor Bankside creature Avet its shoon, 

* This ■■ famous Toyajie " was a mad adventure inidei'taken by Sir Ealjil 
Sbelton and a Mi'. Heyden to row down Fleet-ditcli from Hridewell to Hoi- 
born —a feat wbicli was successfully accomplislied, in .si)ite of tlie revoltiiii^ 
obstructions minutely descril)ed by Jonson. Fleei-ditcli was tlie mime 
given to tliat part of the City ditch wliicli extended fi'oni Fleet-lane, wlieie 
the rivulet calli'd Mie Fleet ran into it. by Bridewell-dock ;ind Holl)<)rn to 
tlie Thames at Blackfriars-brid^e. It was the common recejitacle of every 
species of filth and offal, the horrors of which are by uo means exaggeratecl 
by the poet. 



EPIGRAMS. 293 

In 'ts own hall ; when these (in worthy scorn 

Of those that put out monies on return 

From Venice, Paris, or some inland passage 

Of six times to and fro, without embassage, 

Or him that b;ickward went to Berwick, or which 

Did dance the famous Morris unto Norwich) 

At Bread Street's Mermaid, having dined, and merry, 

Proposed to go to Holborn in a wherry: 

A harder task than either his to Bristo', 

Or his to Antwerp. Therefore, once more, list ho. 

A dock there is, that called is Avernus, 
Of some Bridewell, and may, in time, concern us 
All, that are readers: — but, methinks, 'tis odd 
That all this while I have forgot some god, 
Or goddess to invoke, to stuff my verse ; 
And, with both bombard-style and phrase, rehearse 
The many perils of this port, and how 
Sans help of Sibyl, or a golden bough, 
Or magic sacrifice, they passed along! 
Alcides, be thou succoring to my song. [there, 

Thou hast seen hell, some say, and know'st all nocks 
Canst tell me best how every Fury looks there. 
And art a god, if fame thee not abuses, 
Always at hand, to aid the merry muses. 
Great club-fist, though thy back and bones be sore, 
Still, with thy former labors, yet, once more, 
Act a brave work, call it thy last adventry : — 
But hold my torch, while I describe the entry 
To this dire passage. Say, thou stop thy nose : 
'Tis but light pains: indeed, this dock's no rose. 

In the first jaws appeared that ugly monster, 
Ycleped mud, wdiich, when their oars did once stir, 
Belched forth an air as hot as at the muster 
Of all your nighttubs when the carts do cluster, 
"Who shall discharge first his merd-urinous load : 
Thorough her womb they make their famous road, 
Between two walls ; where, on one side, to scar men,* 
Were seen your ugly centaurs, ye call carmen, 

* Altered by Gifford to " scare men." 



294 BEN JONSON. 

Gorg"onian scolds, and harpies : on the other 

Hung stench, diseases, and old tilth, their mother, 

With famine, wants, and sorrows many a dozen, 

The least of which was to the plague a cousin. 

But they unf righted pass, though many a privy, 

Spake t3 them louder than the ox in Livy; 

And many a sink poured out her rage anenst 'em ; 

But still their valor and their virtue fenced 'em, 

And on they went, like Castor brave and Pollux, 

Plowing the main. When, see, the worst of all lucks 

They met the second prodigy, would fear a 

Man, that had never heard of a chimera. 

One said, 'twas bold Briareus, or the beadle, 

Who hath the hundred hands when he doth meddle ; 

The other thought it Hydra, or the rock 

Made of the trull that cut her father's lock ;* 

But, coming near, they found it but a lighter, 

So huge, it seemed they could by no means quite her. 

Back, cried their brace of Gharons ; they cried. No, 

No going back ; on still, you rogues, and row. 

How bight the place "^ A voice was heard, Cocytus. 

Row close then, slaves. Alas ! they vail beshite us. 

No matter, stinkarils, row. What croaking sound 

Is this we heart of frogs'? No, guts wind-bound, 

Over your heads; well, row. At this a loud 

Crack did report itself, as if a cloud 

Had burst with storm, and down fell, ah excelsls, 

Poor Mercury, crying out on Paracelus 

And all his followers, that had so abused him, 

And in so shitten sort so long had used him ; 

For, where he was the god of eloquence. 

And subtilty of metals, they dispense 

His spirits now in pills, and eke in potions. 

Suppositories, cataplasms, and lotions. 

"But many moons there shall not wane," quoth he, 

"In the mean time let 'em imprison me, 

* Possi\)ly. Scylla. wlio cut tlie jioldeii liair from tlie hea<l of licr father, 
Xisus; but, as WluiUey observes, Scylla was tinned iuto a bird, uot iuto a 
rock. 



EPIGRAMS. 295 

But I will speak, and knoAv I sLall be heard, 
Touching this cause, where they will be afeard 
To answer me." And sure, it was the intent 
Of the grave fart late let in j^arlianient 
Had it been seconded, and not in fume 
Vanished away, as 30U must all presume 
Their Mercurj' did now. By this, the stem 
Of the hulk touched, and, as by Polypheme 
The s'y Ulysses stole in a sheepskin. 
The well-greased wherry now had got between, 
And bade her farewell sough unto the lurden;* 
Never did bottom more betray her burden ; 
The meat-boat of bear's college. Parisgarden, 
SUink not so ill; nor, when she kissed, Kate Arden. 
Yet one day in the year for sweet "tis voiced. 
And that is when it is the Lord Mayor's foist. 

By this time had they reached the Stygian pool 
By which tlie masters swear, when, on the stool 
Of worship, they their nodding chins do hit 
Against their breasts. Here, several ghosts did flit, 
About the shore, of farts but late departed. 
White, black, blue, green, and in more forms outstarted, 
Than all these atomi ridiculous. 
Whereof old Democrite, and Hill Nicholas,! 
One said, the other svrore, the world consists. 
These be the cause of those thick frequent mists 
Arising in that place, through which, who goes, 
Must try the unused valor of a nose: 
And that ours did. For yet, no nare J was tainted, 
Nor thumb, nor finger, to the stop accpiainted, 
But open, and unarmed, encountered all : 
Yv^hether it languishing stuck upon the wall, 
Or were precipitated dowu the jakes, 
And after, SAvam abroad in ample flakes. 



' Loiii'don. or. ns sjx'lt in the text, liirdeii, is a iie.nvy oi- li!nii)i.Nli fellovv- 
fnmi lourd. liejivy. Lov.rdin. Fr. Jonsoii ;i)>j)li('.s it to iliu <:reiit liiniheriiig 
liirlirer whirl! ohstrncted the course of the wlienv. 

t Nicliolns Hill, a fellow of St. Johii's Collejre. Oxford, who, accordiiiir to 
Antony Wood, adopted the iiotinns of Di'mocritiis about atoms, and ■was a 
great patron of tiie Corpuscular i)hiloso])hy. 

+ No.se; from narcs. 



296 BEN JONSON. 

Or that it lay heaped like an usurer s mass, 
All was to them the same, they were to pass, 
And so they did, from Styx, to Acheron, 
The ever-boiling flood; whose banks upon 
Fair Fleet Lane furies, aud hot cooks do dwell. 
That with still scalding steams make the place hell. 
The sinks ran grease, and hair of measled hogs. 
The heads, houghs, entrails, and the hides of dogs ; 
For, to say ti*uth, what scullion is so nasty 
To put the skins and offal in a pasty? 
Cats there lay, divers had been flayed and roasted, 
And after mouldy grown, again were toasted ; 
Then, selling not, a dish was ta'en to mince them. 
But still, it seemed, the rankness did convince 'em. 
For here they were thrown in with the melted pewter, 
Yet drowned they not; they had five lives in future. 

But 'mongst these tiberts,* who do you think there 
Old Banks, the juggler, one Pythagoras, [was? 

Grave tutor to the learned horse ; both which 
Being, beyond sea, burned for one witch, f 
Their spirits transmigrated to a cat. 
And now, above the pool, a face right fat, 
With great grey eyes, it lifted up, and mewed; 
Thrice did it spit; thrice dived; at last it viewed 
Our brave heroes with a milder glare. 
And, in a j^iteous tune, began: "How dare 
Your dainty nostrils, in so hot a season. 
When every .clerk eats artichokes and peason. 
Laxative lettuce, and such windy meat. 
Tempt such a passage? When each privy's seat 

* Cats were called tiberts, or tyberts, of which tliire is an early example 
in the story oi Reynard the Fox. Shakspere plays upon the uaTiie of Tybalt, 
fiom its affinity to the name given to the csits, and makes Mercutio call him 
"rat-catcher" and "'king of cats." The modern name "tabby" is, appar- 
ently, a descendant of "tibert." 

t Banks and his famous horse Morocco, whom he taught to dance, and 
perform a variety of feats, are frequently alluded to b^- the writers of the 
time. In consequence of the marvelous stories related about this leniark- 
able horse, poor Banks was considered by many peo])le to be in league with 
the devil. At Home he was seized, and he and his horse were burned for 
witchcraft. 



a Plan A Ms. 29*7 

Is liiled with buttook, and the walls do sweat 

Urine and piasters, when the noise doth beat 

Upon your ears, of discords so unsweet, 

And outcries of the damned in the Fleet? 

Can not the plague-bill keep you back, nor bells 

Of loud Sepulcher's, with their hourly knells, 

But yor. wdll visit grisly Pluto's hall? 

Behoi'-^x wdiere Cerberus, reared on the w^all 

Of H jlborn-height (three sergeants' heads) looks o'er 

And stays but till you come unto the door? 

Tempt not his fury, Pluto is away ; 

And Madame Caesar, great Proserpina, 

Is now from home; you lose j^our labors quite, 

Were you Jove's sons, or had Alcides' might." 

They cried out, "Puss!" He told them he was Banks, 

That had so often showed them merry pranks ; 

They laughed at his laugh-worthy fate ; and j^assed 

The triplehead without a sop. At last, 

Calling for Rhadamanthus, that dwelt by, 

A soapboiler ; and ^acus him nigh, 

Who kept an alehouse ; with my little Minos, 

An ancient purblind fletcher,* with a high-nose; 

They took them all, to witness of their action. 

And so went bravely back without protraction. 

In memory of which most liquid deed, 
The city since hath raised a pyramid ; 
And I could wish for their eternized sakes, 
My muse had plowed with his that sung A-jax.f 

* All anow-iualcer — the peisou who put on the feather. Yrom Jleche, an 
arrow. 

t Sir John Harrington, who wrote a treatise called Misacmos; or, The 
Metamorphosis of Ajax. 




298 i^EN JOKSOl^. 

THE FOREST.* 



I. WHY I WTIITE NOT OF LOYE. 

Some act of Love's bound to rehearse, 
I thought to bind him in my verse ; 
Which, when he feit, "Away!" quoth he, 
*'Can poets hope to fetter me? 
It is enouo'h they once did get 
Mars and my mother in their net ; 
I wear not these my wings in vain." 
With which he fled me; and again 
Into my rhymes could ne'er be got 
By any art. Then wonder not 
That, since, my numbers are so cold, 
When Love is fled, and I grow old. 

II. TO PENSHURST.t 

Thou art not, Penshurst, built to envious show 

Of touch or marble; nor canst boast a row 

Of polished pillars or a roof of gold : 

Thou hast no lantern, whereof tales are told ; 

Or stair, or courts ; but stand'st an ancient pile, 

And these grudged at, are reverenced the while. 

Thou joy'st in better marks, of soil, of air. 

Of wood, of water ; therein thou art fair. 

Thou hast thy walks for health, as well as sport : 

Thy mount, tp which thy Dryads do resort. 

Where Pan and Bacchus their high feasts have made. 

Beneath the broad beech and the chestnut shade; 

That taller tree, which of a nut was set. 

At his great birth, where all the muses met. J 

There, in the writhed bark, are cut the names 

Of many a sylvan taken with his flames ; 

And thence the ruddy satyrs oft provoke 

The lighter fauns to rea ch thy lady's oak.§ 

* TliP text is piintefl fiom the folio of 1616. 

t The seat of the Sidneys; afterwards rendered famous hv Waller as the 
residence of Saccharissa. + Sir Philip Sidney. 

§ Theie is an old tradition that a Lady Leicester (the wife nndoubtedly 
of Sir Kohert Sidney) was taken in travail under au oak in Penshurst Park, 
which was afterwards called "my lady's oak." 



THE FOREST. 299 

Thy copse, too, named of Gamage,* thou hast there, 

That never fails t-o serve thee seasoned deer. 

When thou wouklst feast or exercise thy friends ; 

The lower land, that to the river bends, 

Thy sheep, thy bullocks, kine, and calves do feed ; 

The middle grounds thy mares and horses breed ; 

Each bank doth yield thee conies ; and the tops 

Fertile of wood, Ashore and Sidney's copps. 

To crown thy open table, doth provide 

The purpled pheasant, with the speckled side ; 

The painted partridge lies in every field, 

And for thy mess is willing to be killed ; 

And if the high-swoln Medway fail thy dish,^ 

Thou hast the ponds that pay thee tribute fish, 

Fat aged carps that run into thy net. 

And pikes, now weary their own kind to eat, 

As loth the second di'aught or cast to stay, 

Ofiicionsly at first, themselves betray ; 

Bright eels that emulate them, leap on land. 

Before the fisher, or into his hand. 

Then hath thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers, 

Fresh as the air, and new as are the hours : 

The early cherry, with' the later plum. 

Fig, grape, and V^ii^^^^? ^^'^^^ i^^ ^i^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ come; 

The blushing apricot, and woolly peach 

Hang on thy walls, that every child may reach. 

And though thy walls be of the country stone. 

They're reared with no man's ruin, no man's groan ; 

There's none that dwell about them wish them down, 

But all come in, the farmer and the clown, 

And no one empty-handed, to salute 

Thy lord and lady, though they have no suit. 

Some bring a capon, some a rural cake, 

Some nuts, some apples ; some that think they make 

The better cheeses, bring them ; or else send 

By their ripe daughters, whom they would commend 



* In this copse, B:iib:ira Gamngi-, the aist wife of Sir Eobirt SiJiiey, 
used to take jricat delijiht in feedinj: the deer from her own Uaiuls. Heuce 
t-he copse was called Lady Ganiaj:e"s bower. 



300 BEN JONSON. 

This way to husbands, and whose baskets bear 

An emblem of themselves in plum or pear. 

But what can this, more than express their love, 

Add to thy free provisions, far above 

The need of such? Where liberal board doth flow 

With all that hospitality doth know ! 

Where comes no guest but is allowed to eat, 

Without his fear, and of thy lord's own meat ; 

Where the same beer and bread, and selfsame wine, 

That is his lordshij^'s, shall be also mine. 

And I not fain to sit, as some this day 

At great men's tables, and yet dine away. 

Here no man tells my cups ; nor, standing by, 

A waiter doth my gluttony envy. 

But gives me what I call, and lets me eat, 

He knows, below, he shall find plenty of meat; 

Thy tables hoard not up for the next day. 

Nor, when I take my lodging, need I x^ray 

For fire, or lights, or livery ; all is there. 

As if thou then wert mine, or I reigned here ; 

There's nothing I can wish, for which I stay. 

That found King James, when hunting late, this way, 

With his brave son, the prince ; they saw thy fires 

Shine bright on every hearth, as the desires 

Of thy Penates had been set on flame 

To entertain them ; or the country came. 

With all their zeal, to warm their welcome here. 

With, great, I will not say, but, sudden cheer 

Didst thou then make 'em ! and what praise was heaped 

On thy good lady, then ! Who therein reaped 

The just reward of all her housewifery ; 

To have her linen, plate, and all things nigh, 

When she was far ; and not a room but dressed 

As if it had expected such a guest ! 

These, Penshurst, are thy praise, and yet not all. 

Thy lady's noble, fruitful, chaste withal. 

His children thy great lord may call his own; 

A fortune in this age but rarely known. 

They are, and have bsen tiught religion ; thence 

Their gentler sj^irits have sucked innocence. 



THE FOREST. 301 

Each morn and even tliey are taught to pray, 
With the whole honsehold, and may, every day, 
Read in their virtuous j^arents' noble jiarts 
The m^'steries of manners, arms, and arts. 
Now, Penshurst, they that will proportion thee 
With other edifices, when they see 
Those proud ambitious heaps, and nothing else. 
May say, their lords have built, but thy lord dwells. 

Ill, TO SIR ROBERT WROTH. 

How blessed art thou, canst love the country. Wroth, 

Whether by choice, or fate, or both ! 

And though so near the city, and the court, 

Art ta'en with neithers vice nor sport: 

That at great times art no ambitious guest 

Of sheriff's dinner, or mayor's feast ; 

Nor com"st to view the better cloth of state. 

The richer hangings, or crown-plate ; 

Nor throng'st, w^hen masquing is, to have a sight 

Of the short bravery of the night ; 

To view the jewels, stuffs, the pains, the wit, 

These wasted, some not paid for yet! 

But canst at home, in th}" securer rest, 

Live with unbought jDro vision blest; 

Free from proud porches, or the gilded roofs, 

'Mongst lowing herds, and solid hoofs ; 

Along the curled w^oods, and painted meads 

Through which a serpent river leads 

To some cool courteous shade, which he calls his. 

And makes sleej) softer than it is. 

Or if thou list the night in watch to break, 

Abed canst hear the loud stag speak. 

In s]3ring, oft roused for thy master's sport, 

Who for it makes thy house his coui't ;* 

Or with thy friends, the heart of all the year 

Divid'st, upon the lesser deer ; 

In autumn, at the j^artridge mak'st a flight. 

And giv'st thy gladder guests the sight ; 



* James I. is said to have been a frenueiit guest at tbe house of Sir 
Robert Wroth. 



302 BEN J0N80N. 

And in the winter, hunt'st the fl3'ing hare, 

More for thy exercise than fare; 

While all that follow, their glad ears a23X>ly 

To the full greatness of the cry : 

Or hawking at the river, or the bush, 

Or shooting at the greedy thrush. 

Thou dost with some delight the day outwear, 

Although the coldest of the yeiir ! 

The whilst the several seasons thou hast seen 

Of floweiy meads, of copses green, 

The mowed meadow, with the fleeced sheep, 

And feasts that either shearers keep ; 

The ripsned ears, j^et humble in their height, 

And furrows laden with their weight; 

The ajDple-harvest, that doth longer last ; 

The hogs returned home fat from mast;* 

The trees cut out in log, and those boughs made 

A fire now, that lent a shade ! 

Thus Pan and Sylvan having had their rites, 

Comus puts in for new delights. 

And fills thy open hall with mirth and cheer, 

As if in S xturn's reign it were ; 

ApjUo's harp and Hermes' lyre resound 

Nor are the mus3s strangers found. 

The roub of rural folk come thronging in, 

(Their rudeness then is thought no sin), 

Thy noblest spouse affords them welcome grace; 

And the great heroes of her race 

Sit mixed with loss of state, or reverence ; 

Freedom doth with degree dispense. 

The jolly wassail walks the often round. 

And in their cups, their cares are drowned: 

They think not then which side the cause shall leese. 

Nor how to get the lawyer fees. 

Such, and no other, was that age of old. 

Which boasts t' liave had the head of gold; 

And such, since thou canst make thine own content, 

Strive, Wroth, to live long innocent. 

* The fruit of the oak, beech, and other forest trees — acorus, uuts, &c. 
^Iso called pannage, sometimes paivnu. 



THE FOREST. 303 

Let others watch, in guilty ai-ms, and stLiiicI 

The fmy of a rash command, 

Go enter breaches, meet the cannon's ras*e. 

That they may sleep with sca,rs in age. 

And show their feathers shot, and colors torn, 

And brag that they were therefore born. 

Let this man sweat, and wrangle at the bar, 

For every jorice, in every jar. 

And change possessions oftener with his breath 

Than either money, war, or death ; 

Let him, than hardest sires, more disinherit. 

And each where boast it as his merit 

To blow up orphans, widows, and their 'states; 

And think his power doth equal fate's. 

Let that go heap a mass of wretched wealth, 

Purchased by rapine, worse than stealth. 

And brooding o'er it sit, with broadest ej^es, 

Not doing good, scarce vv'hen he dies. 

Let thousands more go flatter vice, and win, 

By being organs to great sin ; 

Get place and honor, and be glad to keep 

The secrets that shall break their sleep ; 

And so they ride in purple, eat in plate. 

Though poison, think it a great fate. 

But thou, my Wroth, if I can truth apply, 

Shalt neither that nor this envy. 

Thy peace is made ; and, when man's state is well, 

'Tis better if he there can dwell. 

God wisheth none should wreck on a strange shelf: 

To Him man's dearer than t' himself. 

And, howsoever we may think things sweet, 

He always gives what He knows meet; 

Which who can use is hapj^y: such be thou. 

Thy morning's and thy evening's vow 

Be thanks to him, and earnest prayer, to find 

A body sound, with sounder mind ; 

To do thy country service, thyself right ; 

That neither want do thee affright, 

Nor death ; but when thy latest sand is spent, 

Thou may'st think life a thing but lent. 



304 ^^N J0N80N. 

IV. TO THE WORLD. 
A FAREWELL FOR A GENTLEWOMAN, VIRTUOUS AND NOBLE. 

False world, good night! Since thou hast brought 

That hour uj^on my morn of age, 
Henceforth I quit thee from my thought, 

My part is ended on thy stage. 
Do not once hope that thou canst tempt 

A spirit so resolved to tread 
U23on thy throat, and live exempt 

From all the nets that thou canst sj^read. 
I know thy forms are studied arts. 

Thy subtle ways be narrow straits ; 
Thy courtesy but sudden starts, 

And what thou call'st thy gifts are baits. 
I know, too, though thou strut and paint, 

Yet art thou both shrunk up and old; 
That only fools make thee a saint, 

And all thy good is to be sold. 
I know thou whole art but a shop 

Of toys and trifies, traps and snares, 
To take the weak, or make them stop: 

Yet thou art falser than thy wares. 
And, knowing this, should I yet stay, 

Like such as blow away their lives, 
And never will redeem a day. 

Enamored of their golden gyves ! 
Or, having' 'scaped, shall I return. 

And thrust my neck into the noose 
From whence, so latety, I did burn, 

With all my powers, myself to loose? 
Wuat bird, or beast, is known so dull. 

That fled his cage, or broke his chain, 
And tasting air and freedom, wull 

Render his head in there again? 
If these, who have but sense, can shun 

The engines that have them annoyed j 
Little for me had reason done, 

If I could not thy gins avoid. 



THE FOUEST. 305 

Yes, threaten, do. Alas, I fear 
As little as I hope from thee ; 
I know thou canst nor show, nor bear 
More hatred than thou hast to me. 
My tender, iirst, and simple years, 

Thou didst abuse, and then betray ; 
Since stirr'dst up jealousies and fears, 

When all the causes were away. 
Then in a soil hast i^lanted me, 

Where breathe the basest of thy fools; 
Where envious arts professed be, " 

And pride and ignorance the schools; 
W^here nothing is examined, weighed, 

But as 'tis rumored, so believed ; 
Where every freedom is betrayed. 

And every goodness taxed or grieved. 
But, what we're born for, we must bear: 

Our frail condition it is such, 
That what to all may haj^pen here, 

If 't chance to me, I must not grutch. 
Else I my state should much mistake, 

To harbor a divided thought 
From all my kind ; that for my sake, 
There should a miracle be wrought. 
No, I do know that I was born 

To age, misfortune, sickness, grief : 
But I will bear these with that scorn. 

As shall not need thy false relief. 
Nor for my peace will I go far. 

As wanderers do, that still do roam, 
But make my strengths, such as they are, 
Here in my bosom, and at home. 

V. SONG. 
TO C E L I A. 

Come, my Celia, let us prove, 
While we may, the sports of love ; 
Time will not be ours forever : 
He at length our good will sever. 



306 BEK JONSON. 

Spend not then his gifts in vain* 

Suns that set may rise again; 

But if once we lose this light, 

'Tis with us perpetual night. 

Wh}^ should we defer our joys? 

Fame and rumor are but to^'S. 

Can not we delude the ej'es 

Of a few poor household spies? 

Or his easier ears beguile, 

So removed by our wile? 

'Tis no sin love's fruit to steal, 

But the sweet theft to reveal: 

To be taken, to be seen, 

These have crimes accounted been. 

VI. TO THE SAME. 

Kiss me, sweet : the wary lover 

Can 3^our favors keep, and cover, 

When th^e common courting jay 

All your bounties will betray. 

Kiss again! no creature comes; 

Kiss, and score up wealthy sums 

On my lips, thus hardly sundered, 

While you breathe. First give a hundred, 

Then a thousand, then another 

Hundred, then unto the other 

Add a thousand, and so more ; 

Till you equal with the store, 

All the grass that Bumney yields. 

Or the sands in Chelsea fields, 

Or the drops in silver Thames, 

Or the stars that gild his streams. 

In the silent summer-nights, 

When youths j^ly their stolen delights 5 

That the curious may not know 

How to tell 'em as thej^ flow, 

And the envious, when they find 

What their number is, be pined. 



THE FOREST. 307 

VII. SONG. 
THAT WOMEN AKE BUT MEN'S SHADOWS. 

Follow a sliadow, it still flies you ; 

Seem to fly it, it will joursue : 
So court a mistress, she denies 3'ou ; 

Let her alone, she will court you. 
Say, are not women truly, then, 
Styled but the shadows of us men! 

At morn and even shades are longest ; 

At noon they are or short, or none : 
So men at weakest, they are strongest, 

But grant us perfect, they're not known 
Siy, are not women tru-y, then. 
Styled but the shadows of us men ? 

VIII. TO SICKNESS. 

Why, disease, dost thcu molest 
Ladies, and of them the best ? 
Do not men enow of rites 
To thy altars, b}' their nights , 
Spent in surfeits, and their days, 
And nio-hts too. in worser wavs? 
Take heed, sickness, what 3'ou do, 
I shall fear you'll surfeit too. 
Live not we, as all thy stalls, 
Spittles, pest-house, hospitals, 
Scarce will take our present store? 
And this age will build no more. 
Pray thee, feed contented then. 
Sickness only on us men : 
Or, if needs thy lust will taste 
Womankind, devour the waste 
Livers, round a]:)out the town. 
But, forgive me : with tby crown 
They maintain the truest trade. 
And have more diseases made. 
What should, yet, thy palate please? 
naintinessj and softer ease. 



308 BEN JONSOJSr, 

Sleeked limbs, and finest blood? 

If thy leanness love such food, 

There are those that, for thy sake, 

Do enough ; and who would take 

Any pains, yea, think it price. 

To become thy sacrifice; 

That distil their husbands' land 

Tn decoctions ; and are manned 

With ten empirics in their chamber, 

Lying for the spirit of amber ; 

That for th' oil of talc dare spend 

More than citizens dare lend 

Them, and all their officers ; 

That, to make all pleasure theirs, 

Will by coach and water go, 

Every stew in town to know ; 

Dare entail their loves on any, 

Bald or blind, or ne'er so many ; 

And, for thee, at common game. 

Play away health, wealth, and fame. 

These, disease, will thee deserve ; 

And will, long ere thou shouldst starve. 

On their beds, most prostitute, 

Move it, as their humblest suit. 

In thy justice to molest 

None but them, and leave the rest. 

IX. TO CELIA. 

Drink to me only with thine eyes, 

And I will pledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup. 

And I'll not look for wine. 
The thirst that from the soul doth risej 

Doth ask a drink divine: 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 

I would not change for thine. 

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 
Not so much honoring thee, 

As giving it a hope that there 
It could not withered be. 



rUE FOREST. 309 

But tliou thereon didst only breathe, 

And sont'st it back to me : 
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 

Not of itself, but thee. 

X. PR^LUDIUM. 

And must I sing? What subject shall I choose? 
Or whose great name in poets' heaven use. 
For the more countenance to my active muse? 

Hercules? Alas, his bones are yet sore 
With his old earthly labors ; t' exact more 
Of his dull godhead were sin. I'll implore 

Phoebus. No, tend th}^ cart still. Envious day 
Shall not give out that I have made thee stay. 
And foundered thy hot team, to tune my lay. 

Nor will I beg of thee, Lord of the vine. 
To raise my spirits with thy conjuring wine, 
In the green circle of thy ivy twine. 

Pallas, nor thee I call on, mankind maid, 
That at thy birth mad'st the poor smith afraid, 
Who with his axe thy father's midwife played. 

Go, cramp dull Mars, light Venus, when he snorts, 
Or with thy tribade trine invent new sports ; 
Thou, nor thy looseness with my making sorts. 

Lot the old boy, your son, j)ly his old task, 
Turn the stale prologue to some jDainted mask ; 
His absence in my verse is all I ask. 

Hermes, the cheater, shall not mix with us, 
Though he would steal his sisters' Pegasus, 
And rifle him ; or pawn his petasus.* 

Nor all the ladies of the Thespian lake. 

Though they were crushed into one form, could make 

A beauty of that merit, that should take 

* The winged cap of Mercury. 



810 BEN JOJYSOJU. 

My muse up by commission ; no, 1 bring 

My own true fire: now my thought takes wing, 

And now an Epode to deep ears I sing. 

XI. EPODE. 

Not to know vice at all, and keep true state, 

Is virtue and not fate : 
Next to that virtue, is to know vice well. 

And her black spite expal. 
AVhich to effect (since no breast is so sure, 

Or safe, but she'll j^rocure 
Some way of entrance) we must plant a guard 

Of thoughts to watch and ward 
At th' eye and ear, the ports unto the mind, 

That no strange, or unkind 
Obje?t arrive there, but the heart, our spy. 

Give knowledge instantly 
To wakeful reason, our affections' king : 

Who, in th' examining, 
"Will quickly taste the treason, and commit 

Close, the close cause of it. 
'Tis the securest policy we have. 

To make our sense our slave. 
But this true course is not embraced by many ; 

By man}'! scarce by any. 
For either our affections do rebel. 

Or else the sentinel, 
That should ring 'larum to the heart, doth sleep ; 

Or some great thought doth keep 
Back the intelligence, and falsely swears 

They're base and idle fears 
Wiiereof the loyal conscience so complains. 

Thus, by these subtle trains. 
Do several passions invade the mind, 

And strike our reason blind : 
Of which usurping rank, some have thought love 

The first ; as j^rone to move 
Most frequent tumults, horrors, and anrests, 

In our inflamed breasts: 



THE FOREST. 311 

But this doth from the cloud of error grow, 

Which thus we over-blow. 
The thing they here call love is blind desire, 

Armed with bow, shafits, and fire : 
Inconstant, like the sea, of whence 'tis born, 

Hough, swelling, like a storm ; 
With vrhom who sails, rides on the surge of fear, 

And boils as if he were 
In a continual tempest. Now, true love 

No such elTects doth prove : 
That is an essence far more gentle, fine, 

Pure, perfect, nay, divine ; 
It is a golden chain let down from heaven, 

Whose links are bright and even; 
That falls like sleep on lovers, and combines 

The soft and sweetest minds 
In equal knots : this bears no bi'ands, nor darts, 

To murder different hearts. 
But, in a calm and godlike unity. 

Preserves community. 
Oh, who is he that, in this peace, enjoys 

Th' elixir of all joysf 
A form more fresh than are the Eden bowers, 

And lasting as her flowers ; 
Richer than Time, and, as Time's virtue, rare; 

Sober as saddest care ; 
A fixed thought, an eye untaught to glance; 

Wbo, blest with such high chaiice. 
Would, at suggestion of a steep desire, 

Cast himself from the spire 
Of all his happiness? But soft: I hear 

Some vicious fool draw near, [thing, 

That cries, we dream, and swears there's no such 

As this chaste love we sing. 
Peace, Luxury ! Thou art like one of those 

Who, being at sea, suiDj^ose, 
Because tliey move, the continent doth so: 

No. Yice, we let thee know [do fly. 

Though thy wild thoughts with sparrows' wings 

Turtles can chastely diej 



312 BEN JONSON. 

And yet (in this t' express ourselves more clear) 

We do not number here 
Such spirits as are only continent, 

Because lust's means are spent; 
Or those who doubt the common mouth of fame, 

And for their place and name, 
Can not so safely sin : tlieir chastity 

Is mere necessity; 
Nor mean we those whom vows and conscience 

Have tilled with abstinence: 
Though we acknowledge who can so abstain 

Makes a most blessed gain ; 
He that for love of goodness liateth ill, 

Is more crown-worth}^ still 
Than he, which for sin's penalty forbears: 

His heart sins, though he fears. 
But we propose a person like our Dove, 

Graced with a Phoenix' love; 
A beauty of that clear and sparkling light, 

Would make a day of night. 
And turn the blackest sorrows to bright joys: 

Whose odorous breath destroys 
All taste of bitterness, and makes the air 

As sweet as she is fair. 
A body so harmoniously composed, 

As if Nature disclosed 
All her best symmetr^^ in that one feature! 

Oh, so divine a creature 
Who could be false to ? Chiefly, when he knows 

How only she bestows 
The wealthy treasure of her love on him; 

Making his fortunes swim 
In the full flood of her admired perfection? 

What savage, brute affection, 
Would not be fearful to offend a dame 

Of this excelling frame? 
Much more a noble, and right generous mind, 

To virtuous moods inclined, 



THE FOREST. 813 

Thtit knows the weight of gui't: he will refram 

From thoughts of such a stivdn, 
And to his sense object this sentence ever, ^^ 

-'Man may securely sin, but safely neycr. 

XII. EPISTLE TO ELIZABETH, COUNTESS OF RUTLAND. 

Madam,— Whilst that for which all virtue now is s.ld, 

And almost every vice, almighty gold, 

That which, to boot with hell, is thought worth heaven, 

And, for it, life, conscience, yea, souls are givtn. 

Toils, by grave custom, up and down the court, 

To every squire, or groom, that will report 

Well or ill, only all the following year, 

Just to the weight their this day's presents bear; 

While it makes huishers serviceable men. 

And some one apteth to be trusted then, 

Thouo-h never after; whiks it gains the voice 

Of some grand peer, whose air doth make rejoice 

The fool that gave it ; who will want and weep 

When his proud patron's favors are asleep ; 

While thus it buys great grace, and hunts poor lame; 

Runs between man and man; "tween dame and aame; 

S:^lders cracked friendship ; makes love last a day, 

Or perhaps less: whilst gold bears all this sway, 

I, that have none to send you, send you verse: 

A present which, if elder writs rehearse 

The truth of times, was once of more esteem 

Than this our gilt, not golden, age can deem, 

When gold was made no weapon to cut throats, 

Or put'^to flight Astrea, when her ingots 

Were yet unfound, and better placed in earth, 

Than here, to give pride fame, and peasants birth. 

But let this dross carry what price it will 

With noble ignorants, and let them still 

Turn upon scorned verse their quarter-face ; 

With you. I know, my offering will find grace. 

For what a sin 'gainst your great father s spirit 

Were it to think that you should not inherit 

His love unto the muses, when his skill 

Almost you have, or may have, when you willj 



314 BEN J0N80N. 

Wlierein wise Nature yon a dowry gave, 

Worth an est.ite treble to that you have ! 

Beauty, I know, is good, and blood is more; 

Riches thought mjst; but, madam, think. what store 

The v7orld hath seen, which all these had in trust, 

And now lie lost in their f jrQ-otten dust. 

It is the muse alone can raise to heaven. 

And at her strong arm's end hold up, and even, 

The souls she loves. Those other glorious notes. 

Inscribed in touch or marble, or the coats 

Painted, or carved upon our great men's tombs, 

Or in their ^Yind jws, do but prove the w^ombs 

That bred them, graves : when they were born they died, 

That had no muse to make their fame abide. 

How many equal with the Argive Queen, 

Have beauty known, yet none so famous seen? 

Achilles was not first, that valiant w^as. 

Or, in an army's liead, that, locked in brass. 

Gave killing strokes. There were brave men before 

Ajix or Idomen, or all the store 

That Homer brought to Troy; yet none so live. 

Because they lacked the sacred pen could give 

Like life unto them. Who heaved Hercules 

Unt3 the stars? Or the Tyndarides? 

Who placed Jason's Argo in the sky? 

Or set bright Ariadne's crown so high? 

Who made a lamp of Berenice's hair. 

Or lifted Cassiopea in her chair. 

But only poet's, rapt with rage divine? 

And such, or my hopts fail, shall make you shine„ 

You, and that other star, that purest light. 

Of all Lucina's train ; Lucy the bright ; 

Than which a nobler, heaven itself knows not; 

Who, though she have a better verser got, 

Or poet, in the court account, than I, 

And, who doth me, though I not him, envy. 

Yet, for the timely favors she hath done 

To my h ss sanguine muse, wherein she hath won 

My grat-ful soul, the subject of her powers, 

I have already used some happy hours 



THE FOllKST. Sl5 

To her remembrance ; which ^Yhe^] time shall bring 
To curious liglit, to not.s I then shall sing, 
Will prove old Orpheus' c.ct no tale to be; 
For I shall move stocks, stones, no less than he. 
Then all that have but done my muse least grace 
Shall thronging come, and boast the happy place 
They hold in my strjinge poems, vvhich, as yet, 
Had not their form t )uclied by an English wit. 
There, like a rich and golden pyramid. 
Borne up by statues, shall I rear my head 
Above your under-carved ornaments, 
And show how ta the life my soul presents 
Your form impressed there; not with tinkling rhymes 
Or commonplaces, filched, that take these times, 
But high and noble matter, such as flies 
From brains entranced, and filled with ecstasies ; 
Mjods, which the godlike Sidney oft did prove. 
And your brave friend and mine so well did love. 
Who, wheresoe'er he be — * * * 
[ The rest is lost. ] 

XIII. TO KLiTHAEINE, LADY AUBIGXT. 

'Tis grown almost a danger to speak true 

Of any good mind, now; there are so few. 

The bad, by number are so fortified, 

As what they have lost t' expect, they dare deride. 

So both the praised and praisers suffer ; yet, 

For other's ill ought none the good forget. 

I, therefore, who profess myself in love 

W^ith every virtue, wheresoe'er it move, 

And howsoever; as I am at feud 

With sin and vice, though with a throne endued; 

And, in this name, am given out dangerous 

By arts an 1 praotioe of the vicious, 

Such as suspect themselves, and think it fit, 

For their own capital crimes, to indict my wit; 

I that have suffered this, and, thougli fcrsook 

Of fortune, have not altered yat my look, 

And so myself abandoned; as because 

Men are not just, or keep no holy laws 



316 BEN JOKSOir. 

Of nature and society, I should faint; 

Or fear to draw true lines, 'cause others paints 

I, madam, am become your praiser ; where, 

If it may stand with your soft blush to hear 

Yourself but told unto yourself, and see 

In my character what your features be. 

You will not from this paper slightly pass: 

No lad}^ but at some time loves her glass. 

And this shall be no false one, but as much 

Removed, as you from need to have it such. 

Look then, and see yourself, — I will not say 

Your beauty, for you see that every day; 

And so do many more: all which can call 

It perfect, proper, pure, and natural, 

Not taken up o' the doctors, but, as well 

As I, can say and see it doth excel ; 

That askes but to be censured by the eyes: 

And in those outward forms all fools are wise. 

Nor that your beauty wanted not a dower. 

Do I reflect. Some alderman has power, 

Or cozening farmer of the customs, so 

T' advance his doubtful issue, and o'erilow 

A prince's fortune: these are gifts of chance, 

And raise not virtue ; they may vice enhance. 

My mirror is more subtle, clear, refined. 

And takes and gives the beauties of the mind 

Though it reject not those of fortune : such 

As blood and' match. Wherein, how more than much 

Are you engaged to your happy fate 

For such a lot ! That mixed you with a state 

Of so great title, birth, but virtue most. 

Without which all the rest were sounds, or lost. 

'Tis only that can time and chance defeat : 

For he that once is good is alwaj'S great. 

Wherewith then, madam, can you better j^ay 

This blessing of your stars than by that way 

Of virtue, which you tread? What if alone, 

Without companions? 'tis safe to have none. 

In single paths dangers with ease are watched; 

Contagion in the press is soonest catched. 



THE FOREST. 31t 

This makes, tliat wisely you decline your life 

Far from the maze of custom, error, strife. 

And keep an even and unaltered gait, 

Not looking by, or back, like those that wait 

Times and occasions to start forth, and seem ; 

Which though the turning world may disesteem, — 

Because that studies spectacles and shows. 

And after varied, as fresh objects, goes, 

Giddy with change, and therefore can not see 

Right the right way, — yet must your comfort be 

Your conscience; and not wonder if none asks 

For truth's complexion, where they all were masks. 

Let who will follow fashions and attires. 

Maintain their 'liegers forth for foreign wires, 

Melt down their husbands' lands, to pour away 

On the close groom and page, on new year's day. 

And almost all days after while they live ; 

They find it both so witty and safe to give. 

Let them on powders, oils, and paintings spend, 

Till that no usurer, nor his bawds dare lend 

Them or their officers; and no man know 

Whether it be a face they wear or no. 

Let them waste body and state ; and, after all. 

When their own joarasites laugh at their fall, 

May they have nothing left whereof they can 

Boast, but how oft they have gone WTong to man, 

And call it their brave sin: for such there be 

That do sin only for the infamy. 

And never think how vice doth every hour 

Eat on her clients, and some one devour. 

You, madam, young have learned to shun these shelves, 

Whereon the most of mankind wreck themselves. 

And, keeping a just course, have early put 

Into your harbor, and all passage shut 

'Gainst storms or pirates that might charge your peace ; 

For which you worthy are the glad increase 

Of your blest womb,* made fruitful from above 

To pay your lord the pledges of chaste love, 

* Lady Aubigiiy had seven children, of wliom four were sous. Three of 
her sons were killed in battle, and tlie fourth survived till 1655. 



318 BEN JONSON. 

And raise a uoble stem, to give the fame 
To Clifton's blood that is denied their name. 
Grow, grow, fair tree ! and as thy branches shoot, 
Hear what the muses sing above thy root, 
By ma, their priest, if they can aught divine: 
Before the moons have filled their triple trine, 
To crown the burthen which you go withal, 
It shall a ripe and timely issue fall, 
T ' expect the honors of great Aubigny, 
And greater rites yet writ in mystery, 
But which the fates forbid me to reveal: 
Onl_y thus much out of a ravished zeal 
Unto 3"our name, and goodness of your life. 
They speak ; since you are truly that rare wife 
Other great wives may blush at, when they see 
What your tried manners are, what theirs should be 
How 3'ou love one, and him jow. should, how still 
You are depending on his word and will ; 
Not fashioned for the court, or strangers' ey^s, 
But to please him, who is the dearer prize 
Unto himself, by being so dear to you. 
This makes, that your affections still be new. 
And tJiat your souls conspire, as they were gone 
Each into other, and hid now made one. 
Live that one still! And as long years do pass, 
Madam, be bold to use this truest glass ; 
Wherein your form you still the sam3 shall find; 
Because nor it can change, nor such a mind. 

XIV ODE. TO SIE WILLIAM SIDNEY, ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 

Now that the hearth is crowned with smilino- fire. 
And some do drink, and some do dance, 
Some ring, 
Some sing. 
And all do strive to advance 
The gladness higher; 

Wherefore should I 
Stand silent by. 
Who not the least 
Both love the cause, and authors of the feast? 



THE FOREST. 319 

Give me my cup, but from the Thespian well^ 
That I may tell to Sidney what 
This day 
Doth say 
And he may think on that 
Which I do tell; 

AYhen all the noise 
Of these forced joys 
Are fled and gone, 
And he with his best Genius left alone. 

This day says, then, the number of glad years 
Are justly summed that make you man; 
Your Yow 
Must now 
Strive all right ways it can, 
T ' outstrip your peers r 

Since he doth lack 
Of going back 
Little, whose will 
Doth urge him to run wrong, or to stand stilL 

Nor can a little of the common store 
Of nobles' virtue show in you; 
Your blood, 
So good 
And great, must seek for new, 
And study more: 

Nor weary, rest 
On what's deceased ; 
For they that swell 
"With dust of ancestors, in graves but dwell. 

'Twill be exacted of your name, whose son. 

Whose nephew, whose grandchild you are j 
And men 
Will then 
Say you have followed far, when well begun • 
Which must be now. 
They teach you how. 
And he that stays 
To live unto to-morrow, hath lost two days- 



320 BEN JONSON. 

So may you live in honor, as in name, 
If with this truth you be inspired; 
So may 
This day 
Be more, and long desired ; 
And with the flame 

Of love be bright, 
As with the light 
Of bonfires ! Then 
The birthday shines, when logs not burn, but men 

XV. TO HEAVEN. 

Good and great God! Can I not think of Thee, 

But it must straight my melancholy be? 

Is it interpreted in me disease. 

That, laden with my sins, I seek for ease ? 

Oh, be Thou witness, that the reins dost know 

And hearts of all, if I be sad for show; 

And judge me after, if I dare pretend 

To aught but grace, or aim at other end. 

As Thou art all, so be Thou all to me. 

First, midst, and last, converted One and Three, 

My faith, my hope, my love ; and in this state. 

My judge, my witness, and my advocate. 

Where have I been this while exiled from Thee, 

And whither rapt, now Thou but stoop'st to mel 

Dwell, dwell here still! Oh, being everywhere, 

How can I doubt to find Thee ever here? 

I know my state, both full of shame and scorn, 

Concaived in sin, and unto labor born, 

Standing w^ith fear, and must with horror fall, 

And destined unto judgment, after all. 

I feel my griefs too, and there scarce is ground 

Upon my flesh t' inflict another wound ; 

Yet dare I not complain, or wish for death. 

With holy Paul, lest it be thought the breatb 

Of discontent ; or that these prayers be 

For weariness of life, not love of Thee. 



UNDERWOODS. 321 

UNDERY/OODS. 

CONSISTING OF DIVERS POEMS. 

Ciueri, f^loria sera vciiit. — Martial. 
TO THE READEK. 

Willi the same leave the ancients called that kind of bodv 
Sylva. or"i"A?/, in which there were works of divers uatui'e und 
ir.attcr congested : as the multitude call timber-trees promiscu- 
ously growing, a "Wood, or Forest, so I am hold to entitle these 
lesser poems, of later growth, by this of Underwood, out of the 
analogy they hold to the Forest in my former book, and no other- 
wise. Bkn Jonson. 

POEMS OF DEVOTION. 

THE sinner's sacrifice. 

to the holt tkinitt. 

I. Oh Holy, blessed, glorious Trinity 
Of persons, still one God, in Unity. 
The faithful man's believed Mystery, 

Help, help to lift 
Myself up to thee, harrowed, torn, and bruised 
By sin and Satan ; and my flesh misused, 
As my heart lies in pieces, all confused. 

Oh, take my gift! 

II. xA.ll-gracious God, the sinner's sacrifice, 

A broken heart, thou w^ert not wont des2:>ise. 
But 'bove the fat of rams, or bulls, to prize 

An offering meet 
For thy acceptance. Oh, behold me right. 
And take compassion on my grievous j^light! 
What ^dor can b:^', than a heart contrite. 

To thee more sweet? 

III. Eternal Father, God, wdio didst create 

This all of nothing, gavest it form and fate, 
And breath'st into it life and light, with state 

To worship thee. 



322 BEN JOI^SON. 

Eternal God, the Son, wlio not deniedst 
To take our nature; becam'st man, and diedst, 
To pay our debts, uj^on thy cross, and cried st, 

"All's done in me!" 

IV. Eternal Spirit, God from both proceeding-. 
Father and Son; the Comforter, in breeding 
Pure thoughts in man : with fiery zeal them feeding 

For acts of grace. 
Increase those acts. Oh, glorious Trinity 
Of persons, still one God in Unity ; 
Till I attain the longed-for mystery 

Of seeing your face. 

V. Beholding one in three, and three in one, 
A Trinity, to shine in Union ; 

The gladdest light dark man can think upon; 

Oh, grant it me! 
Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost, you three, 
All co-eternal in your Majesty, 
Distinct in persons, yet in Unity 

One God to see. 

Yi. My Maker, Savior, and my Sanctifier. 
To hear, to meditate, sweeten my desire 
With grace, with love, with cherishing entire. 

Oh, then how blest! 
Among thy saints elected to abide, 
And with thy angels, placed side by side, 
But in thy presence, truly glorified 

Shall I there rest! 

A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHE*. 

Hear me. Oh God! 

A broken heart 

Is my best part: 
Use still thy rod, 

That I may prove 

Therein, thy love. 



UNDER WOODS. 323 

If thou liadst not 

Been stem to me, 

But left me free, 
I had forgot 

Myself and thee. 

For, sin's so sweet, 

As minds ill bent 

Barely repent, 
Until they meet 

Their punishment. 

"Who more can crave 

Than thou hast done: 

That gav'st a son, 
To free a slave? 

First made of nought ; 

With all since bought. 

Sin, Death, and Hell, 

His glorious name 

Quite overcame; 
Yet I rebel, 

And slight the same. 

But, I'll come in. 

Before my loss. 

Me farther toss, 
As sure to win 

Under his Cross. 

A hy:mn on the nativity of jiy saviour. 
I sing the birth was born to-night, 
The Author both of life and light ; 

The angels so did sound it, 
And like the ravished shepherds said. 
Who saw the light, and were afraid, 

Yet searched, and true they found it. 

The Son of God, th' Eternal King, 
That did us all salvation bring. 

And freed the soul from danger; 



3;>4 ^^^ JONSON. 

He whom the whole world could not take,* 
The Word, which heaven and earth did make j 
Was now laid in a manger. 

The Father's wisdom willed it so, 
The Son's obedience knew no No,t 

Both wills were in one stature ; 
And as that wisdom had decreed, 
The Word Avas now made Flesh indeed, 

And took on Him our nature. 

What comfort by Him do we win. 
Who made Himself the price of sin. 

To make us heirs of glory! 
To see this Babe, all innocence, 
A martyr born in our defense ; 

Can man forget this story? 



A CELEBRATION OF CHARIS. 

IN TEN LYRIO PIECES. 
I. HIS EXCUSE for LOVING. 

Let it not j'our wonder move. 
Less your laughter, that I love. 
Though I now write fifty years, 
I have had, and have my peers ; 
Poets, though divine, are men: 
Some have loved as old again. 
And 'it is not always face. 
Clothes, or fortune gives the grace ; 
Or the feature, or the youth ; 
But the language, and the truth. 
With the ardor and the passion, 
Gives the lover weight and fashion. 



* That ia, contain — a Latinism, Quei)i non capit. — G. 
t lint wisest Fate says Xo, 
Tins must not vet Ue so; 

The Babe yet lies in sniilin<r infaHcy, 
That on the bitter cross 
Mnst redeem onr loss : 

So both liiiiiselt' and ns to irloiify. 

MlL'i'ON — Hymn on the Nativity. 



VNDER WOODS. 325 

If you then will road the stoiy, 
First, prepare you to bo sorry, 
That you never knew till now, 
Either whom to love, or how : 
But be glad, as soon with me, 
When you know that this is she, 
Of whose beauty it was sung. 
She shall make the old man young. 
Keep the middle age at stay. 
And let nothing high decay. 
Till she be the reason, Avhy, 
All the world for love may die. 

II. HOW HE SAW HEE. 

I beheld her, on a day, 
"When her look outflourished May; 
And her dressing did outbrave 
All the pride the fields then have ; 
Far I was from being stupid. 
For I ran and called on Cupid ; 
"Love, if thou wilt ever see 
Mark of glory, come with me ; 
Where's thy quiver? Bend thy bow? 
Here's a shaft,— thou art too slow!" 
And withal, I did untie 
Every cloud about his eye : 

But he had not gained his sight 

Sooner than he lost his might. 

Or his courage ; for away 

Straight he ran, and durst not stay. 

Letting bow and arrow fall, 

Nor for any threat, or call. 

Could be brought once back to look. 

I, foolhardy, there up took 

Both the arrow he had quit, 

And the bow, with thought to hit 

This my object; but she threw 

Such a lightning, as I drew, 

At my face, that took my sight. 

And mv motion from me quite ; 



326 SJlJN JONSOJ^. 

So that there I stood a stone, 
Mocked of all, and called of one, 
(Which with grief and wrath I heard,) 
Cupid's statue with a beard; 
Or else one that played his ape, 
In a Hercules his shape. 

III. WHAT HE SUFFERED. 

After many scorns like these, 
Which the prouder beauties please, 
She content was to restore 
Eyes and limbs; to hurt me more, 
And would, on conditions, be 
Reconciled to Love and me : 
First, that I must kneeling yield 
Both the bow and shaft I held 
Unto her ; w^iicli Love might take 
At her hand, with oaths, to make 
Me the scope of his next draft, 
Aimed wdth that selfsame shaft. 
He no sooner heard the law, 
But the arrow home did draw, 
And, to gain her by his art, 
Left it sticking in my heart: 
Which when she beheld to bleed, 
She repented of the deed, 
And would fain have changed the fate, 
But the 2^ity comes too late. 
Loser-like, now, all my wreak 
Is, that I have leave to speak. 
And in either prose, or song. 
To revenge me with my tongue; 
"Wliich hov/ dexterously I do, 
Hear, and make example too. 

IV. HER TRIUMPH. 

See the chariot at hand here of Love, 

Wherein my lady rideth ! 
Each that draws is a swan or a dove, 

And well the car Love guideth. 



UNT) ER WOODS. 327 

As she goes, all liearfcs do duty 

Unto her beaut}^; 
And, enamored, do wish, so they might 
But enjoy such a sight. 
That they still were to run by her side. 
Through swords, through seas, whither she Avould ride. 

Do but look on her eyes, they do light 

All that Love's world compriseth! 
Do but look on her hair, it is bright 

As Love's star when it riseth ! 
Do but mark, her forehead's smoother 

Than words that soothe her! 
And from her arched brows, such a grace 

Sheds itself through the face, 
As alone there triumphs to the life 
All the gain, all the good, of the elements' strife. 

Have 3'ou seen but a bright lily grow. 
Before rude hands have touched it? 
Have you marked l^ut the fall o' the snow 

Before the soil hath smutched it? 
Have you felt the wool of beaver? 

Or swan's dovv'n ever? 
Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier? 
Or the nard in the fire ? 
Or have tasted the bag of the bee? 
Oh, so w^hite ! Oh, so soft ! Oh, so sweet is she ! 

V. HIS DISCOURSE WITH CUPID. 

Noblest Charis, jow that are 
Both my fortune and my star! 
And do govern more my blood, 
Than the various moon the flood! 
Hear, what late discourse of you, 
Love and I have had ; and true. 
'jMongst my muses finding me, 
"Where he chanced j'our name to see 
Set, and to this softer strain ; 
"Sui*e," said he, "if I have brain, 



328 BEN JONSON. 

Thifj, here sung', can bo no otlier 

By description, but my mother! 

So hath Homer praised her hair; 

So Anacreon drawn the air 

Of lier face, and made to rise 

Just about her sparkling eyes, 

Both her brows, bent hke my bow; 

By her looks I do her know, 

Which you call my shafts. And see! 

Such my mother's bhishes be, 

As the bath your verse discloses 

In her cheeks, of milk and roses; 

Such as oft I wanton in : 

And, above her even chin. 

Have you placed the bank of kisses, 

Where, you say, men gather blisses. 

Ripened with a breath more sweet 

Than wlien flowers and west-winds meet. 

Na}', her white and polished neck, 

With the lace that doth it deck, 

Is my mother's! Hearts of slain 

Lovers made into a chain ! 

And between each rising breast, 

Lies the valley, called my nest. 

Where I sit and pryne* my wings 

After f)ight ; and put new stings 

To my shafts! Her ver^' name, 

Witli my mother's is the same." 

I confess all, I replied. 

And the glass hangs by her side, 

And the girdle 'bout her waist, 

All is Venus, save unchaste. 

But, alas, thou seest the least 

Of her good, who is the best 

Of her sex; but couldst thou, Love, 

Call to mind the forms that strove 



* TT.snally speH jn'oijiue. or pvoiiie — to ])iini('. A hawk was said to 
proiiie, "when slie fetched oil with her beak over her taik" Mr. Halliwell 
gives the following illnstratiou :^ 

For joyo they proicine hem evyry niornynge. — MS. Ashmole, 59, f. 20. 



UNDERWOODS. 829 

For the apple, and tlioso tliree 
Make in one, the same were she. 
For this beauty yet doth hide 
Something- more than thou hast spied. 
Outward grace weak love beguiles: 
She is Yenus when she smiles, 
But she's Juno when she walks, 
And Minerva when she talks. 

TI. CLAI^nXG A SECOND KISS BY DESERT. 

Charis, guess, and do not miss, 
Since I drew a morning kiss 
From j-our lips, and sucked an air 
Thence, as sweet as you are fair, 
Wliat my muse and I have done: 
"Whether Ave have lost or won. 
If by us the odds were laid. 
That the bride, allowed a maid. 
Looked not half so fresh and fair, 
With th' advantage of her hair,* 
And her jewels, to the view 
Of th' assembly, as did you. 

Or, that did yoi: sit, or walk, 
You were more the eye and talk 
Of the court, to-day, than all 
Else that glistened in Whitehall ; 
So, as those that had your sight, 
AYished the bride were changed to night, 
And did think such rites were due, 
To no other grace but 3'ou! 

Or, if you did move to-night 
In the dances, with what spite 
Of your peers you were beheld, 
That at every motion swelled 
So to see a lady tread. 
As might all the Graces lead. 
And was worthy, being so seen, 
To be envied of the queen. 

!■ ■ ■ • 

* Brides, in Jonson's dajs, v le always led to the altar -with their hair 
hanging dowu. — G. 



530 ^E2i^ JONSON. 

Or if you would yet have stayed 
"Whether any would upbraid 
To himself his loss of time ; 
Or have charged his sight of crime, 
To have left all sight for 3'ou : 
Guess of these which is the true ; 
And if such a verse as this, 
May not claim another kiss 

VII. BEGGING ANOTHER, ON COLOR OF MENDING THE 
FORMER. 

For Love's sake, kiss me once again; 
I long, and should not beg in vain. 
Here's none to spy, or see ; 

"Why do you doubt, or stay? 
I'll taste as lightly as the bee, 
That doth but touch his flower, and flies away. 

Once more, and, faith, I will be gone; 
Can he that loves ask less than one? 
Nay, 3'ou may err in this, 

And all your bounty w^rong: 
This could be called but half a kiss ; 
What we're but once to do, we should do long! 

I will but mend the last, and tell 
Where, how, it w^ould have relished well; 
Join lip to lip and try : 

Each suck the other's breath, 
And whilst our tongues perplexed lie, 
Let who will think us dead, or wish our death. 

VIII. URGING HER OF A PROMISE. 

Charis one day in discourse 
Had of Love, and of his force, 
Lightly promised she w^ould tell 
What a man she could love well : 
And that promise set on fire 
All that heard her wdth desire. 
With the rest, I long expected. 
When the work would b(? effected,- 



UNDERWOODS. 331 

But we find that cold delay, 

And excuse spun every day, 

As, until she tell her one, 

AYe all fear she loveth none. 

Therefore, Charis, you must do't, 

For I ^Yill so urge you to't 

You shall neither eat nor sleep, 

No, nor forth jo\xv window peep, 

"With your emissary eye, 

To fetch in the forms go by. 

And pronounce which band or lace 

Better fits him than his face ; 

Nay, I will not let you sit 

'Fore your idol glass a whit, 

To say over every purl 

There ; or to reform a curl ; 

Or with Secretary Cis 

To consult, if fucus* this 

Be as good as was the last: 

All 3'our sweet of life is past. 

Make account, unless you can, 

And that quickly, sjDeak your man. 

IX. HER MAN DESCRIBED BY HER OWN DICTAMEN. 

Of your trouble, Ben, to ease me, 
I will tell what man would please me, 
I would have him, if I could, 
Noble, or of greater blood ; 
Titles, I confess, do take me, 
And a woman God did make me ; 
French to boot, at least in fashion. 
And his manners of that nation. 

Young I'd have him too, and fair. 
Yet a man ; with cris^^ed hair, 
Cast in thousand snares and rings, 
For Love's fingers and his wings, 
Chestnut color, or more slack, 
Gold upon a ground of black; 
Venus and Minerva's eyes, 
For he must look wanton-wise. 



Paiut for the coiuplexiou, iu yeueral use among ladies. 



332 BEN JONSOK. 

Eyebrows bent like Cupid's bow. 
Front, an ample field of snow ; 
Even nose, and cheek, withal, 
Smooth as is the billiard-ball ; 
Chin as woolly as the peach; 
And his lip should kissing* teach. 
Till he cherished too much beard, 
And made Love or me afeard. 

He should have a hand as soft 
As the down, and show it oft; 
Skin as smooth as any rush. 
And so thin to see a blush 
Rising through it, ere it came; 
All his blood should be a flame 
Quickly fired, as in beginners 
In Love's school, and yet no sinners. 

'Twere too long to speak of all : 
"What we harmony do call, 
In a body, should be there j 
Well he should his clothes, too, wear, 
Yet no tailor help to make him, 
Dressed, you still for man should take him. 
And not think h' had eat a stake. 
Or were set up in a brake. 

Valiant he should be as fire, 
Showing danger more than ire; 
Bounteous as the clouds to earth, 
And as honest as his birth ; 
All his actions to be such. 
As to do no thing too much; 
Nor o'erpraise, nor yet condemn. 
Nor outvalue, nor contemn ; 
Nor do Avrongs, nor wrongs receive ; 
Nor tie knots, nor knots unweave; 
And from baseness to be free. 
As he durst love truth and me. 

Such a man, with every part, 
I could give my very heart ; ■ 
But of one, if short he came, 
I can rest me where I am. 



UNDERWOODS. 333 

X. AXOTHER lady's EXCEPTION, PRESENT AT THE HEARING. 

For his mind I do not care, 

That's a toy that I could spare : 

Let his title be but great. 

His clothes rich, and band sit neat, 

Himself young, and face be good, 

All I wish is understood. 

What you please, you parts may call, 

'Tis one good part I'd lie withal. 



THE MUSICAL STRIFE. 

A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. 

She. Come, with our voices, let us war, 
And challenge all the spheres, 
Till each of us be made a star. 
And all the world turn ears. 

He. At such a call, what beast or fowl 
Of reason empty is? 
What tree or stone doth want a soul? 
What man but must lose his? 

She. Mix then your notes, that we may provo 
To stay the running floods. 
To make the mountain quarries move, 
And call the walking woods? 

He. What need of me? Do you but sing, 
Sleep and the grave will wake : 
No tunes are sweet, nor words have sting, 
But what those lips do make ! 

She. They say the angels mark each deed. 
And exercise below, 
And out of inward pleasure feed 
On what they viewing know. 

He. Oh, sing not you then, lest the best 
Of angels should be driven 
To fall again, at such a feast. 
Mistaking earth for heaven. 



334 BEN JONSON. 

She. Nay, rather both our souls be strained 
To meet their high desire ; 
So they, in state of grace retained, 
May wish us of their quir 

A SONG. 
Oh, do not wanton with those eyes, 

Lest I be sick with seeing ; 
Nor cast them down, but let them rise, 

Lest shame destroy their being. 

Oh, be not angry with those fires, 
For then their threats will kill me; 

Nor look too kind on m}^ desires. 
For then my hopes will spill me. 

Oh, do not steep them in thy tears, 
For so will sorrow slay me ; 

Nor spread them as distract with fears; 
Mine own enough betray me. 

♦- 

IN THE PERSON OF WOMANKIND. 

A SONG APOLOGETIC. 

Men, if you love us, play no more 

The fools or tyrants with your friends, 
To make us still sing o'er and o'er 
Our own false praises, for your ends : 
We have both wits and fancies too. 
And, if we must, let's sing of you. 

Nor do we doubt but that we can. 

If we would search with care and pain, 
Find some one good in some one man ; 
So going thorough all your strain. 
We shall, at last, of parcels make 
One good enough for a song's sake. 

And as a cunning painter takes. 
In any curious piece you see. 
More pleasure while the thing he makes, 
Than when 'tis made, — wli}^ so will we. 
And having pleased our art, we'll try 
To make a new, and hang that by. 



UNDER WOODS. 335 

ANOTHER, 

IN DEFENSE OF THEIR INCONSTANCY. 

Hang lip those dull and envious fools 

That talk abroad of woman's clianefe : 
We were not bred to sit on stools, 
Our projier virtue is to range: 

Take that av/ay, you take our lives; 
We are no women then, but wives. 

Such as in vitlor would excel, 

Do change, though men, and often fight; 
Which we in love must do as well, 
If ever we will love aright : 

The frequent varying of the deed. 
Is that which doth perfection breed. 

Nor is't inconstancy to change 

For what is better, or to make, 
By searching, what before was strange, 
Familiar, for the use's sake : 

The good from bad is not descried, 
But as 'tis often vexed and tried. 

And this profession of a store 

In love, doth not alone heljD forth 
Our pleasure ; but preserves us more 
From being forsaken, than doth worth: 
For w^ere the worthiest woman cursed 
To love one man, he'd leave her first. 



A NYMPH'S PASSION. 

I love, and he loves me again, 

Yet dare I not tell who: 
For if the nymj^hs should know my swain, 
I fear they'd love him too; 
Yet if he be not known. 
The pleasure is as good as none, 
For that's a narrow joy is but our ow^n. 



336 BEN JONSOJSl. 

I'll tell, that, if they be not glad, 

They may yet envy me; 
But then if I grow jealous mad, 
And of them pitied be, 

It were a plague 'oove scorn : 
And yet it can not be forborn. 
Unless my heart would, as my thought, be torn. 

He is, if they can find him, fair, 

And fresh and fragrant too, 
As summer's sk}-, or purged air, 
And looks as lilies do 

That are this morning blown: 
Yet, yet I doubt he is not known. 
And fear much more, that more of him be shown. 

But he hath eyes so round and bright. 

As make away my doubt. 
AYhere Love may all his torches light. 
Though hate had put them out: 
But then, t' increase my fears. 
What nymph soe'er his voice but hears 
Will be my rival, though she have but ears. 

I'll tell no more, and yet I love, 

And he loves me ; yet no 
One unbecoming thought doth move 
From either heart, I know ; 

But so exempt from blame. 
As it would be to each a fame. 
If love, or fear, would let me tell his name. 



ON A LOVER'S DUST, 

MADE SAND FOR AN HOUR-GLASS. 

Do but consider this small dust, here running in the 
glass. 

By atoms moved; — 
Could you believe, that this the body ever was 

Of one that loved? 



UNDER WOODS. 337 

And in Lis mistress' flame, playing like a fly, 

Was turned to cinders by lier eye? 

Yes ; and in death, as life unblessed, 

To have't expressed. 

Even aslies of lovers tind no rest! 
,^ 

MY PICTURE LEFT IN SCOTLAND.* 
I now tliink Lovej is rather deaf than blind, 
For else it could not be, 

That she, 
Whom I adore so much, should so slight me, 

And cast my love:]: behind: 
I'm sure my language to her was § as sweet, 
And every close || did meet. 
In sentence^ of as subtle feet. 
As hath the youngest he 
That sits in shadow of Apollo's tree. 

Oh! but my conscious fears, 

That fly my thoughts between, 
Tell me that she hath seen 
My hundreds of gray hairs, 
Told seven and forty years, 
Bead so much waste, as she can not embrace 
My mountain belly, and my rocky face. 
And all these, through her eyes, have stopped her ears. 

-^ 

AGAINST JEALOUSY. 

Wretched and foolish jealousy, 

How cam'st thou thus to enter me 

I ne'er was of thy kind ; 
Nor have I j'et the narrow mind 

To vent that poor desire. 
That others should not warm them at my fire : 

I wish the sun should shine 
On all men's fruit and flowers, as well as mine. 

* This portrait of Liiiiself was also sent by Joiison to Drummond, with 
the foUowiiiff iiiemorundum written over it: " "Yet that love, -when it is at 
full, may admit hea])in<:. leceive another : and this a picture of myself." 
The vaTiatioiisiii Druiiimonds copy are marked in the notes with the affix D. 

t I douht that love.— D. " \ Suit.— D. § Is.— D. 

II And all my closes meet.— D. \ lumbers.— D. 



338 l^EN JONSON. 

But under the disguise of love, 

Thou savst thou onl}- cam'st to prove 
Wlmt my affections were : 
Think'st thou that iove is helped by fear"? 
Go, get thee quickly forth! 
Love's sickness, and his noted want of worth, 

Seek doubting men to please ; 
I no'er will owe my health to a disease. 



THE DREAM. 

Or scorn, or pity, on me take, 
I must the true relation make: 
I am undone to-night! 
Love in a subtle dream disguised. 
Hath both my heart and me surprised, 
Whom never yet he durst attempt awake ; 
Nor will he tell me for whose sake 

He did me the delight, or spite j 
But leaves me to inquire. 
In all my wild desire. 

Of Sleep again, who w^as his tiid, 
And Sleep so guilty and afraid. 
As since he dares not come within my sight. 



AN EPITAPH ON MASTER VINCENT CORBET/ 

I have my piety too, which, could 

It vent itself but as it would, 

Would say as much as both have done 

Before me here, the friend and son ; 

For I both lost a friend and father. 

Of him whose bones this grave doth gathei^ 

Dear Vincent Corbet, who so long 

Had wrestled wdtli diseases strong, 

That though they did possess each limb, 

Yet he broke them, ere they could him, 

With the just canon of his life, 

A life that knew nor noise nor strife ; 



The father of Bishop Corbet, the poet. 



UNDERWOODS. 339 

But was, by sweetening so his will, 
All order, and disposure still. 

His mind as pure, and neatly kept, 
As were his nurseries, and swept 
So of uncleanness, or offense. 
That never came ill odor thence ! 
And add his actions unto these. 
They were as specious as his trees. 
'Tis truej he could not reprehend; 
His very manners taught t' amend, 
They were so even, grave, and holy ; 
No stubbornness so stiff, nor folly 
To licence ever was so light. 
As twice to trespass in his sight, 
His looks would so correct it, when 
It chid the vice, yet not the men. 
Much from him I profess I won, 
And more, and more, I should have done, 
But that I understood him scant ; 
Now I conceive him by my want; 
And pray who shall my sorrows read. 
That they for me their tears will shed ; 
For truly, since he left to be, 
I feel, I'm rather dead than he! 
Reader, whose life and name did e'er become 
An epitaph, deserved a tomb : 
Nor wants it here through penury or sloth, 
Who makes the one. so it be first, makes both. 



ON THE PORTRAIT OF SHAKSPERE.* 

TO THE READER. 

This figure that thou here seest j)ut, 
It was for gentle Shakspere cut. 
Wherein the graver had a strife 
With Nature, to outdo the life : 

' Printed nnder Droeshont's engraviii;r of Shakspere's pnitrait. pTefixed 
to the folio edition of his works. 1G23. Grani:er draws attention to the 
above lines, as bearinj: testimony to the fidelity of the likeness by one who 
knew the oriixinal well. In these verses, and the more elaborate tribute 
which follows, unsni'passed in disci-imiiintion and completeness of pnne- 
jryric, it is impossible not to to be struck by the affenionate honiasie which 
this great poet pays to the memory of Shakspere, From these pieces we 



340 BEN JON SON. 

Oh, could he but have drawn his wit 
As well in brass, as he has hit 
His face, the print would then surpass 
All that was ever writ in brass; 
But since he can not, reader, look 
Not on his picture, but his book. 



TO THE MEMORY 

OF MY BELOVED MASTER WILLIAM SIIAKSPEEE, AND WHAT HE 
IIATH LEFT US. 

To draw no envy, Shakspere, on thy name, 

Am I thus ample to thy book and fame ; 

AVhile I confess thy writings to be such. 

As neither man, nor muse, can praise too much. 

'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these waj^s 

Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise ; 

For silliest ignorance on these may light, 

^yhich, when it sounds at best, but echoes right; 

Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance 

The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance ; 

Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, 

And think to ruin, where it seemed to raise. 

These are, as some infamous bawd, or whore. 

Should praise a matron; what would hurt her more? 

But thou art proof against them, and, indeed. 

Above the ill-fortune of them, or the need. 

I, therefore, will begin : Soul of the age ! 

The applause! delight! And wonder of our stage! 

My Shakspere rise! I will not lodge thee by 

Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie 

A little further off, to make thee room : 

Thou art a monument without a tomb,* 

And art alive still, while thy book doth live 

And we have wits to read, and praise to give. 

That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses, 

I mean with great, but disproportioned Muses ; 

deiive tIip fiiTiiili.ir teini "jrciitle," ;iii(l tlio epithet "sweet swan of Avon,''' 
"wliicli liave imw pns^^ed into cotmiioii use, l)ut wei'e liei'e fir.st aj)plie(l to 
Sliakspere. Thcie are otlier ilescvipi i ve })iirases lobe fonii<l lieie 1\incb 
have also hecoini' cm rent, such a.s ' .Marlowe's niijility line." 
* Au allusiou to an elegy ou Shakspere, by W. Basse, This elegy, curious 



UNDERWOODS. 341 

For if I tlioiTglit iiw judgment were of years, 

I sli'juld commit tliee siirel}^ with thy peers, 

And tell how far thou didst our Lily outshine,* 

Or sporting- Kyd,t or Marlowe's might.y line4 

And though thou liadst small Litin and less Greek, 

From thence to honor thee, I will not seek 

For names : but call forth thundering Eschylus, 

Euripides, and Sophocles to us, 

Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordoua dead, 

To live again, to hear thy buskin tread, 

And shake a stage; or, when thy socks were on. 

Leave thee alone for the comparison 

Of all that insolent Greece, or haughty Rome 

Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. 



iu its way. is quoted by Wballey, and runs as follows: — 

Keiiowiic'd Spenser, lie a tlioiiuht nioie r.i^li 

To ]eariie<l Chaiiccr; and. rare Beaumont, lie 

A little nearer Spensei'. to nial^e room 

For Sliak.spere in your threefold, fourfold tomb. 

To lodue all four in one bed nnikc; a .shift, 

For. until doomsday barill\- will a fifth. 

Betwixt this day and tiiat. by fates be slain. 

Foi' whom your curtains need be drawn again. 

But if ]trecedency in death dolb bar 

A fourth place in your sacred .sepulcber, 

TIndei' this sal)le marl)!e of thine own. 

Sleep, raie trajiedian. Slnik.spere. sleep alone; 

Tliy unmolested peace, in an nnsharetl cave, 

Possess as lord, not tenant of thy urave: 

That unto u.s. and others, it may be 

Honor hereafter to be laid by thee. 

* Lily is now better known as the originator of that affected style of 
lan^ruai^e and iniau^ery calle<l eui>hnism than by his play.s, which weie de- 
ficient in dramatic spirit, althouiih they were full of fancy, and contaiii 
some deliiihtful Ij-rics. They were chiefly written, however, a.s court per- 
formaiu'es. and are scarcely amenable to the same criticism as ]iieces 
strictly intended for the sta<;e. For the most part, they more nearly re- 
semble mascjues. 

f ■■Sportiii'4" seems to be applied to Kyd in deiision, for of all the con- 
temporaTv dramatists he was the least fanciful or lively. He wiott^ Jcro^ 
niinn ami The Spanish Trngedy. pieces which <leal largely in .sancuinarv 
liorrors. Jonson was employed to supply additional scenes and speeches 
foi- The Spanish Tragedy. Xyu also translated Cornelia from the French of 
Garnier. 

\ The "mighty line" ha.s. probably, a double siirnificntion. if it be true, 
as conjectured by 'Slv. ('(diier. that Marlowe was the first poet who used 
blank- verse on the stage, and that Tnmhtniaine was the first i>lay in which 
the exi)eiiment was tried. Independently, howevei-. of that consideiation. 
it ai)plies with singular ]tropriety to the verse of Marlowe, which, disfigureil 
by many (d" the vices and excesses of the age. is fi-equeiitly distinguished 
by a grandeur and weight of expres.sion which uoue ol his cout^mpoiiuies 
sustained at an equal hight. 



342 BEN JONSON. 

Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show 

To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. 

He was not of an age, but for all time ! 

And all the Muses still were in their prime, 

"When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm 

Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm! 

Nature herself was proud of his designs, 

And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines! 

Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, 

As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. 

The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, 

Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; 

But antiquated and deserted lie, 

As they were not of Nature's family. 

Yet must I not give Nature all ; thy art, 

My gentle Shakspere, must enjoy a part. 

For though the poet's matter Nature be, 

His art doth give the fashion: and, that he 

Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, 

(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat 

Upon the Muse's anvil; turn the same. 

And himself wdtli it, that he thinks to frame; 

Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn ; 

For a good poet's made, as well as born. 

And such wert thou! Look how the father's face 

Lives in his issue, even so the race 

Of Shakspere's mind and manners brightly shines 

In his well turned, and true filed lines ; 

In each of w^hich he seems to shake a lance, 

As brandished at the e^-es of ignorance. 

Sweet Swan of Avon! What a sight it were 

To see thee in our water yet appear. 

And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, 

That so did take Eliza, and our James! 

But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere 

Advanced, and made a constellation there! 

Shine forth, thou star of poets, iand wdth rage. 

Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooj^ing stage. 

Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourned like 

And despairs day, but for thy volume's light, [night, 



trjvDJun WOODS. us 

ON THE HONORED POEMS OF HIS HONORED FRIEND, 

SIR JOHN BEAUMONT, BARONET.* 

This book will live ; it liatli a Genius ; this 

Above his reader, or his praiser, is. 

Hence, then, profane! Here needs no words' expense 

In bulwarks, ravelines, rauiparts for defense: 

Such as the creeping common pioneers use, 

When they do sweat to fortify a muse. 

Though I confess it Beaumont's book to be 

The bound and frontier of our poetiy; 

And doth deserve all muniments of praise. 

That art, or engine, on the strength can raise ; 

Yet, who dares offer a redoubt to rear. 

To cut a dike, or stick a stake uj3, here. 

Before this w^ork? Where envy hath not cast 

A, trench against it, or a battery placed? 

Stay till she make her vain approaches ; then. 

If maimed she come oft', 'tis not of men. 

This fort of so impregnable access: 

But higher power, as spite could not make less. 

Nor flattery ; but, secured by the author's name, 

Defies what's cross to piety, or good fame ; 

And like a hallowed temple, free from taint 

Of ethnicism, makes his muse a saint. 



TO MR. JOHN FLETCHER, 

UPON HIS "faithful SHEPHERDESS." 

The wise and many-headed bench, that sits 

Upon the life and death of plays and wits, 

(ComjDosed of gamester, captain, knight, knight's man, 

Lady or pucelle, that wears mask or fan. 

Velvet or taffeta cap, ranked in the dark 

With the shop's foreman, or some such brave spark 

That may judge for his sixpence) had, before 

They saw it half, damned thy whole jDlay, and more ; 

* The elder brother of the dramatist, aud himself a poet. He died in 
lCi)8, at the age of forty-eight. 



344 BEI{ JONSON. 

Their motives were, since it bad not to do 

With vices, which they looked for, and came to. 

I, that am glad thy innocence was thy guilt, 

And wish that all the Muses' blood were spilt 

In such a mart^-rdom, to vex their eyes, 

Do crown thy murdered poem : which shall rise 

A glorified work t j time, when fire, 

Or moths shall eat what all these fools admire. 



EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. 
Underneath this sable hearse 
Lies the subject of all verse, 
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother: 
Death ! Ere thou hast slain another, 
Learned, and fair, and good as she, 
Time shall throw a dart at thee. 



A VISION ON THE MUSES OF 

HIS FRIEND MICHAEL DRAYTON. 

It hath been questioned, Michael, if I be 
A friend at all : or, if at all, to thee : 
Because, who make the question, have not seen 
Those ambling visits pass in verse, between 
Thy muse and mine, as they expect ; 'tis true, 
You have not writ to me, nor I to you. 
And though I now begin, "tis not to rub 
Haunch againsjb haunch, or raise a rhyming club 
About the town ; this reckoning I will pay, 
AVithout conferring symbols : this, my day. 
It w^s no dream! I was awake and saw. 
Lend me thy voice, oh Fame, that I may draw 
Wonder to truth, and have my vision hurled 
Hot from thy trumj^et round about the world. 
I saw a beauty from the sea to rise. 
That all earth looked on, and that earth all eyes \ 
It cast a beam, as when the cheerful sun 
Is fair got up, and day some hours begun ; 



* Tl)e accomplished sister of Sir Philip Sidney, who dedicated to her his 
Arcadia. 



UNDERWOODS. 3415 

And filled an orb as circular as heaven ; 

The orb was cut forth into regions seven, 

And those so sweet, and well proportioned parts, 

As it had been the circle of the arts: 

When, by thy bright Idea standing by, 

I found it pure and perfect poesy. 

There read I. straight, thy learned Legends three, 

Heard the soft airs, between our swains and thee, 

Which made me think the old Theocritus, 

Or rural Virgil, come to pipe to us. 

But then thy Epistolar Heroic Songs, 

Their loves, their quarrels, jealousies and wrongs, 

Did all so strike me, as I cried, who can 

With us be called the Naso, but this man! 

And looking up, I saw Minerva's fowl. 

Perched overhead, the wise Athenian Owl: 

I thought thee then our Orpheus, that wouldst try, 

Like him, to make the air one volary. 

And I had styled thee Orpheus, but, before 

My lips could form the voice, I heard that" roar. 

And rouse, the marching of a mighty force. 

Drums against drums, the neighing of the horse, 

The fights, the cries, and wondering at the jars 

I saw and read it was the Baron's Wars. 

Oh, how in those dost thou instruct these times, 

That rebels' actions are but valiant crimes ; 

And carried, though with shout and noise, confess 

A wild and an unauthorized v>'ickedness ! 

Sayst thou so, Lucan? But thou scom'st to stay 

Under one title ; thou hast made thy way 

And flight about the isle, well near, by this 

In thy admired Periegesis, 

Or universal circumduction 

Of all that read thy Poly-Olbion ; 

That read it! That are ravished; such was I, 

With every song, I swear, and so would die ; 

But that I hear again thy drum to beat 

A better cause, and strike the bravest heat 

That ever yet did fire the English blood. 

Our right in France, if rightly understood. 



346 BEN JONSOK. 

There tliou art Homer; pray thee use tlie style 

Thou hast deserved, and let me read the while 

Thy catalogue of slii^js, exceeding his, 

Thy list of aids and force, for so it is, 

The poet's act; and for his country's sake, 

Brave are the musters that the muse will make. 

And when he shi^DS them, where to use their arms, 

How do his trumpets breathe ! What loud alarms ! 

Look how we read the Spartans were inflamed 

With bold Tyrtseus' verse ; when thou art named, 

So shall our English youth urge on, and cry 

An Agincourt! An Agincourt! or die. 

This book, it is a catechism to fight. 

And will be bought of every lord and knight 

Tbat can but read; who can not, may in prose 

Get broken pieces, and fight well b}'^ those. 

The miseries of Margaret the queen, 

Of tender eyes will more be wept than seen. 

I feel it by mine own, that overflow 

And stop my sight in every line I go. 

But then, refreshed by thy Fairy Court, 

I look on Cynthia and Syrena's sport, 

As on two flowery carpets, that did rise, 

And with their grassy green restored mine eyes. 

Yet give me leave to wonder at the birth 

Of thy strange Moon-Calf, both thy strain of mirth, 

And gossip-got acquaintance, as to us 

Thou hast brought Lapland, or old Cobalus, 

Empusa, Lamia, or some monster more 

Than Afric knew, or the full Grecian store. 

I gratulate it to thee, and tliy ends. 

To all thy virtuous and well chosen friends: 

Only my loss is, that I am not there, 

And till I worthy am to wish I were. 

I call the world that envies me, to see 

If I can be a friend, and friend to thee. 



UNDERWOODS. 347 

EPITAPH ON MICHAEL DRAYTON. 

Do, pious marble, let thy readers know 

What they, and what their children owe 

To Drayton's name : whose sacred dust 

We recommend unto thy trust. 

Protect his memory, and preserve his story, 

Remain a lasting monument of his glory. 

And when thy ruins shall disclaim 

To be the treasurer of his name ; 

His name, that can not die, shall be 

An everlastinof monument to thee. 



TO MY TRULY BELOVED FRIEND, MASTER BROWNE; 

ON HIS PASTORALS. 

Some men, of books or friends not speaking right. 

May hurt them more with praise, than foes with spite. 

But I have seen thy work, and I know thee : 

And, if thou list thyself, what thou canst be. 

For, though but early in these paths thou tread, 

I find thee write most worthy to be read. 

It must be thine own judgment, yet that sends 

This thy work forth ; that judgment mine commends. 

And, where the most read books, on authors' fames, 

Or, like our money-brokers, take up names 

On credit, and are cozened; see that thou 

By offering not more sureties than enow. 

Hold thine own worth unbroke; which is so good 

Upon the Exchange of Letters, as I would 

More of our writers would, like thee, not swell 

With the how much they set forth, but the how well. 



TO HIS MUCH AND WORTHILY ESTEEMED FRIEND, 

THE AUTHOR. 

Who takes thy volume to his virtuous hand, 
Must be intended still to understand; 
Who bluntly doth but look upon the same, 
May ask, what author would conceal his name? 



B48 BEN JONSO:^. 

AVho reads may rove, and call the passage dark, 
Yet maj^ as blind men sometimes hit the mark. 
Who reads, who rovos, who hopes to understand^ 
May take thy volume to his virtuous hand* 
Who can not read, but only doth desire 
To understand, he may at length admire. 



TO MY WORTHY AND HONORED FRIEND, 

MASTER GEORGE CHAPMAN.* 

Whose work could this be. Chapman, to refine 
Old Hesiod's ore, and give it thus, but thine. 
Who had before wrought in rich Homer's mine! 

What treasure hast thou brought us ! and what store 
Still, still, dost thou arrive with at our shore, 
To make th}^ honor, and our wealth the more! 
If all the vulgar tongues that speak this day 
Were asked of thy discoveries, they must say, 
To the Greek coast thine only knew^ the way. 

Such passage hast thou found, such returns made, 
As now of all men, it is called thy trade, 
And who make thither else, rob, or invade. 



TO MY CHOSEN FRIEND, THE LEARNED TRANSLATOR OF LUCAN, 

THOMAS MAY, ESQ.t 

When, Rome, ^I read thee in thy mighty pair. 
And see both climbing up the slippery stair 
Of Fortune's wTieel, by Lucan driven about. 
And the world in it, I begin to doubt, 
At every line some pin thereof should slack 
At least, if not the general engine crack. 
But when again I view the parts so paysed. 
And those in numbers so, and measure raised, 
As neither Pompe3''s popularity, 
Csesar's ambition, Cato's liberty, 

* Prefixed to Cliapniaira translation of Hi'siDiVs Weeloi and Days, 1G18. 
t Prefixed to Mays tianslatiou of Lucau, 1W7. 



UNDERWOODS. 340 

Calm Brutus tenor start, but all along 

Keep due proj^ortion in the ample song". 

It makes me, ravished with fresh wonder, cry 

What Muse, or rather God of harmony 

Taught Lucan these true modes? Replies my sense, 

What gods but those of arts and eloquence, 

Phoebus and Hermes? They Avhose tongue or pen 

Are still tli' interpreters 'twixt gods and men! 

But who had them interpreted, and brought 

Lucan's whole frame unto us, and so wrought, 

As not the smallest joint, or gentlest word 

In the great mass, or machine there is stirred? 

The selfsame genius! So the w^ork will say; 

The Sun translated, or the son of Mav. 



TO MY DEAR SON, AND RIGHT LEARNED FRIEND, 

MASTER JOSEPH RUTTER. 

You look, my Joseph, I should something say 
Unto the world, in praise of your first play: 
And truly, so I would, could I be heard. 
You know^, I never was of truth afeard, 
And less ashamed; not when I told the crowd 
How well I loved truth: I was scarce allowed 
By those deep-grounded understanding men, 
That sit to censure plays, yet know not when, 
Or why to like : they found it all was new. 
And newer than would please them, because true: 
Such men Ive met withal, and so have 3'ou. 
Now, for mine ov, 11 part, and it is but due, 
(You have deserved it from me) I have read, 
And weighed your play; uu twisted every thread, 
And know the woof and warp thereof; can tell 
Where it runs round, and even ; where so well, 
So soft, and smooth it handles, the wliole piece. 
As it were spun by Nature off the fleece: 
This is my censure. Now there is a new 
Office of wit, a mint, and (this is true) 
Cried up of late : whereto there must be first 
A master-worker called, th' old standard burst 



350 BEN JONSON. 

Of wit, and a new made ; a warden then, 
And a comptroller, two most rigid men 
For order; and, for governing the pix, 
A'say-master, hath studied all the tricks 
Of fineness and alloy; follow his hint, 
You've all the mj'steries of wit's new mint, 
The valuations, mixtures, and the same 
Concluded from a carat to a dram. 



EPIGRAM. IN AUTHOREM.* 

Thou, that would st find the habit of true passion, 

And see a mind attired in perfect strains. 
Not wearing moods, as gallants do a fashion. 

In those pied times, only to show their trains, 
Look here on Breton's work, the master print, 

AYhere such perfections to the life do rise ; 
If they seem wry to such as look asquint, 

The fault's not in the object, but their eyes. 
For as one coming with a lateral view. 

Unto a cunning piece wrought perspective, 
Wants facult}' to make a censure true; 

So with this author's readers will it thrive ; 
Which being eyed directly, I divine. 
His proof their praise '11 incite, as in this line. 



TO THE WORTHY AUTHOR OF THE HUSBAt'D/'* 

It fits not only him that makes a book 

To see his work be good; but that he look 

Who are his test, and what their judgment \\ 

Lest a false praise do make their dotage his. 

I do not feel that ever yet I had 

The art of uttering wares, if they were bad ; 

' The poem to which this epigram specially refers is a ])iec(' c;illed 
Melancholike. Rumour, 1600, by Nicholas Breton, one of the contiihr.tors to 
England's Helicon, and the author of a vast number of poems of vciv 'un- 
equal merit, including some short pieces of singular grace and beiiuty. 

t Prefixed to an anonymous work called TJie Husband; a Poem expresstd 
in a Complete Man. 1614. 



UNDERWOODS. 351 

Or skill of making" matches in my life; 
And therefore I commend unto The Wife* 
That went before — a Husband. She, 111 swear, 
AVas worthy of a good one, and this, here, 
I know for such, as (if my word will weigh) 
She need not blush upon the marriage day. 



TO THE AUTHOR.t 

In picture, they which truly understand. 
Require (besides the likeness of the thing) 
Light, posture, hightening, shadow, coloring, 

All which are parts commend the cunning hand; 

And all your book, when it is thoroughly scanned, 
Will well coufess; presenting, limiting 
Each subtlest passion, with her source, and spring, 

So bold, as shows your art you can command. 

But now your work is done, if they that view 
The several figures, languish in suspense. 

To judge which j^assion's false, and which is true, 
Between the doubtful sway of reason and sense, 

'Tis not your fault if they shall sense prefer, 

Being told there Reason can not, Sense may err. 



TO THE AUTHOR.t 

Truth is the trial of itself, 
And needs no other touch ; 

And purer than the purest gold, 
Refine it ne'er so much. 

It is the life and light of love, 
The sun that ever shineth. 

And spirit of that special grace, 
That faith and love defineth. 



* A poem by Sir Thomas Oveil>urv called TJie Wife, which ohtiiiiuMl con- 
sideraVde popuhnity from the circumstances connected with the tragical 
death of the antlioi-. Tiie ])nl)iit; a])i>ear to have been interested in this 
piece by the contrast {)resented lioiween the portrait drawn in it of a pure 
and virtuous woman. :ind the character of the ii.t'amous Countess of Essex. 

1 Prefixed to Tito Pas.simis of the Mind in general, a poerc bj' Thomas 
Wright 1G(M :ni<l l!;-20. 

; Prefixed fco The Touchstone of Truth, by T. Warre, 1630. 



352 BEN^ JONSON. 

It is the warrant of the word, 
That yields a scent so sweet, 

As gives a power to faith to tread 
All falsehood under feet. 

It is the sword that doth divide 
The marrow from the bone. 

And in effect of heavenly love 
Doth show the Holy One. 

This, blessed Warre, thy blessed book 
Unto the world doth prove, — • 

A worthy work, and worthy well 
Of the most worthy love. 



TO EDWARD FILMER,* 

ON HIS MUSICAL WORK, DEDICATED TO THE QUEEN. 

What charming peals are these. 
That, while they bind the senses, do so please? 

They are the marriage-rites 
Of two the choicest pair of man's delights. 

Music and Poes}^; 
French air, and English verse, here wedded lie. 

Who did this knot compose, 
Again hath brought the Lily to tbe Rose; 

And, with their chained dance, 
Ra-celebrates the joyful match with France 

They are a school to win 
The fair French daughter to learn English in^ 

And, graced with her song, 
To make the language sweet upon her tongue. 



* Of riliiicr notliiii'j: is known. Tlic " niusicnl woik " np]>oiiT's to liave 
i)C'cn a i!HMi' ailaiitalioi: of I'rciic-li iniisic to E!ii;li.-,li woi'ds, in coiiinlinient 
to Queen ireuriclUl, 



UNDERWOODS. 353 

TO RICHARD BROME, 

ON HIS COMEDY OF "THE NORTHERN LASS." 

I had you for a servant once, Dick Brorae, 

And you performed a servant's faithful parts; 
Now yo\i are got into a nearer room 

Of fellowship, professing my old arts. 
And vou do do them well, with good applause, 

Which you have justly gained from the stage, 
By observation of those comic laws 

Which I, your master, first did teach the age. 
You learnt it well, and for it served your time, 

A prenticeship, wdiich few do now^-a-days: 
Now each court hobby-horse will wince in rhyme. 

Both learned, and unlearned, all write plays. 
It was not so of old; men took up trades 

That knew the crafts they had been bred in right 5 
An honest bilbo-smith would make good blades, 

And the physician teach men spew and • . 

The cobbler kept him to his awl ; but now, 
He'll be a poet, scarce can guide a plough. 

A SPEECH AT A TILTING. 

Two noble knights, whom true desire, and zeal, 

Hath armed at all points, charge me hirmbly kneel. 

To thee, oh king of men, their noblest parts 

To tender thus, their lives, their loves, their hearts. 

The elder of these two rich hopes increase. 

Presents a royal altar of fair peace ; 

And, as an everlasting sacrifice. 

His life, his love, his honor which ne'er dies, 

He freely brings, and on this altar lays 

As true oblations. His brother s emblem says, 

Except your gracious eye, as through a glass. 

Made perspective, behold him, he must pass 



* This speech, which was copied from Ashniole's :MSS., is sr.id to have 
been "presented to Kin.i: .James at a tiltin<r, in the behalf of the two noble 
brotliers. Sir Robert and Sir Henry Rich." Thp lines have no date, but 
■were probably produced on one of those festive occasions tf) which tiia at- 
tachment of Prince Henry to martial exercises gave birth.— G. 



854 BEN JONSON. 

Still that same little point he was ; but when 
Your ro3'al eye, which still creates new men, 
Shall look, and on him, so, — then art's a liar, 
If from a little sj)ark, lie rise not fire. 



AN EPISTLE TO SIPx EDV/ARD SACKVILE, 

NOW EAEL OF DORSET. 

If, Sackvile, all that have the power to do 

Great and good turns, as well could t^-Me them too. 

And know their how and where; we should have theii 

Lass list of proud, hard, or ungrateful men. 

For benefits are owed with the same mind 

As they are done, and such returns they find: 

You then, whose will not only, but desire 

To succor my necessities, took fire. 

Not at my prayers, but 3'our sense ; which laid 

The way to meet what others would upbraid, 

And in the act did so w<j b!ush prevent. 

As I did feel it done, as soon as meant ; 

Y^ou can not doubt, but I- who freely know 

This good from you, as freely will it owe ; 

And though my fortune humble me, to take 

The smallest courtesies with thanks, I make 

Yet choice from whom I take them ; and would shame 

To have such do me good, I durst not name. 

They are the noblest benefits, and sink 

Deepest in man, of which, when he doth think. 

The memory delights him more, from whom, 

Than what, he had received. Gifts stink from some, 

They are so long a coming, and so hard; 

Where any deed is forced, the grace is marred. 

Can I owe courtesies received 
Against his will that does them? — that hath weaved 
Excuses or delays'? — or done them scant, 
That they have more oppressed me than my want? 
Or if he did it not to su-^-cor me. 
But by mere chance? — for interest? — or to free 
HiiUoslf of fiirther trouble, or the weight 
Of pressure, like one taken in a strait? 



UNDER WOODS. 



ibo 



All this corrupts the thanks : less hath he won, 
That puts it in his debt-book ere't be done ; 
Or that doth sound a trumpet, and doth call 
His grooms to witness ; or else lets it fall 
In that proud manner, as a good so gained. 
Must make me sad for what I have obtained. 

No ! Gifts and thanks should have one cheerful face, 
So each, that's done and ta'en, becomes a brace. 
He neither gives, nor does, that doth dela^^ 
A benefit, or that doth throw't away ; 
No more than he doth thank, that will receive 
Nought but in corners, and is loth to leave 
Least air, or print, but flies it : such men w^ould 
Run from the conscience of it, if they could. 

As I have seen some infants of the sword 
Well known, and practiced borrowers on their word, 
Give thanks by stealth, and whispering in the ear, 
For what they straight would to the world forswear; 
And speaking worst of those frcm whom they went 
But then fist-filled, to put me off the scent. 
Now damn m'e, sir, if you shall not ccmmand 
My sword ('tis but a poor sword, understand) 
As far as any poor sword in the laiul ; — 
Then turning unto him is next at hrnid, 
Damns whom he damned too, is the veriest guil, 
Has feathers, and will serve a man to y nil. 

Are they not worthy to be answered so, 
That to such natures let their full hands flow, 
And seek not wants to succor; but inquire. 
Like money-brokers, after names, and hire 
Their bounties forth to him that last vras made, 
Or stands to be in commission o' the blade? 
Still, still the hunters of false fame apply 
Theii' thoughts and means to making loud the cry. 
But one is bitten by the dog he fed, 
And hurt seeks cure, the surgeon bids take bread, 
And sponge-like with it dry up the blood quite. 
Then give it to the hound that did him bite : 
Pardon, siys he, that were a way to see 
All the town-curs take each their snatch at me. 



jj56 ^^^ JONmif. 

Oh, is it so? — knows lie so much, and will 

Feed those at whom the table points at still? 

I not deny it, but to help the need 

Of any, is a great and generous deed; 

Yea, of the ungrateful : and he forth must tell 

Many a pound, and piece, will place one well. 

But these men ever want: their very trade 

Is borrowing ; that but stopped, they do invade 

All as their prize, turn pirates here at land. 

Hive their Bermudas, and their Straits i' th' Strand; 

Man out of their boats to the Temple, and not shift 

Now, but command; make tribute, what was gift; 

And it is paid them with a trembling zeal, 

And superstition, I dare scarce reveal 

If it were clear ; but being so in cloud 

Carried and wrapt, I only am allowed 

My wonder, why the taking a clown's purse, 

Or robbing the poor market-folk, should nurse 

Such a religious horror in the breasts 

Of our town-gallantry ! Or why there rests 

Such worship du3 to kicking of a punk, 

Or swaggering with the w^atch, or drawer drunk; 

Or feats of darkness acted in mid-sun. 

And told of with more license than they're done ! 

Sure there is mystery in it I not know. 

That men such reverence to such actions show. 

And almost deify the authors ! Make 

Loud sacrifice of drink, for their health's sake ; 

Rear suppers in their names, and spend whole nights 

Unto their pr^iise in certain swearing rites! 

Can not a man be reckoned in the state 

Of valor, but at this idolatrous rate? 

I thought that fortitude had been a mean 

'Twixt fear and rashness; not a lust obscene, 

pr appetite of offending, but a skill, 

Or science of a discerning good and ill. 

And you, sir, knov/ it well, to whom I write, 

That with these mixtures we put out her light ; 

Her ends are honesty, and public good ; 

And where they want, she is not understood j 



UNDERW00D8. 367 

No more are these of us ; let them then go ! 
I have the Hst of mine own faults to know, 
Look to, and cure : he's not a man hath none ; 
But like to be, that every day mends one. 
And feels it ; else he tarries b}- the beast. 
Can I discern how shadows are decreased, 
Or grow^n, by bight and lowness of the sun, 
And can I less of substance? — w^hen I run, 
Kide, sail, am coached, know I how far I have gone, 
And my mind's motion not? — or have I none? 
No! he must feel and know, that will advance. 
Men have been great, but never good by chance, 
Or on the sudden. It w^ere strange that he 
Who was this morning such a one, should be 
Sydney ere night; or that did go to bed 
Coryat, should rise tbe most sufScient head 
Of Christendom : and neither of these know, 
Were the rack offered them, how they came so ! 
'Tis by degrees that men arrive at glad 
Profit in aught ; each day some little add. 
In time 'twill be a heai^ ; this is not true 
Alone in money, but in manners too. 
Yet we must more than move still, or go on ; 
We must accomplish ; 'tis the last keystone 
That makes th^ arch ; the rest that there w^ere put 
Are nothing till that comes to bind and shut. 
Then stands it a triumphal mark! Then men 
Observe the strength, the hight, the why, and when 
It was erected ; and still walking under 
Meet some new matter to look up and wonder! 
Such notes are virtuous men! They live as fast 
As they are high ; are rooted, and will last ; 
They need no stilts, nor rise upon their toes, 
As if they would belie their stature ; those 
Are dwarfs of honor, and have neither weight 
Nor fashion ; if they chance aspire to height, 
'Tis like light canes, that first rise big and brave, 
Shoot forth in smooth and comely spaces, have 
But few and fair divisions, but being got 
Aloft, grow less and straightened, full of knot, 



358 BE^ JONSON. 

And, last, go out in nothing. You that see 
Their difference, can not choose which you will be^ 
You know, without my llattering you, too much 
For me to be your indice. Keep j'ou such, 
That I may love your person, as I do. 
Without your gift, though I can rate that too, 
By thanking thus the courtesy to life. 
Which you will bury ; but therein, the strife 
Miy grow so great to be example, when. 
As their true rule or lesson, either men, 
Donors or donees, to their practice shall 
Find you to reckon nothing, me owe all. 



AN EPISTLE TO MASTER JOHN SELDEN/ 

I know to whom I write. Here, I am sure, 

Though I be short, I can not be obscure: 

Less shall I for the art or dressing care. 

Truth and the Graces best when na,ked are. 

Your book, my Selden, I have read ; and much 

Was trusted, that you thought my judgment such 

To ask it: though, in most of works, it be 

A penance where a man may not be free. 

Rather than office, vs^hen it doth or may 

Chance that the friend's affection proves allay 

Unto the censure. Yours all need doth fly 

Of this so vicious humanity ; 

Than which, there is not unto study a more 

Pernicious enemy. We see before 

A many of books, even good judgments wound 

Themselves, through favoring what is there not found; 

But I to yours far otherwise shall do, 

Not fly the crime, but the suspicion too : 

Though I confess, as every muse hath erred, 

And mine not least, I have too oft preferred 

* Prefixed to Titles of Honor. lol4. "Seldcii was a person." says Claren- 
don, " whom no character can Hatter, or transmit in any expressions eqnal 
to his merit and virtue. He was of such stupendous learning in all kinds, 
and in all laniruages, as may appear from his excellent and tianscendent 
writiuiis, that a man would have thouglit he had been entirely couyersaut 
among books, uud had never spent an hour but iu reading and writing." 



UNDER WOODS, 359 

Mjd p.ist their terms,'. nd praised seme names too much; 

But 'twas with purpose to have made them such. 

Sinc'j, being deceived, I turn a sharper eye 

Upon niYSclf, and ask, to whom, and why, 

And Vvdiat I write? and vex it umnj days 

Before men get a verse, much less a praise; 

S ) that my reader is assured, I now 

Mean what I speak, and still will keep that vow. 

Stand forth my object, then; you that have been 

Ever at home, yet have all countries seen : 

And like a compass, keeping one foot still 

Upon your center, do your circle fill 

Of general knowledge; watched men, manners too, 

Heard what times past have said, seen what ours do. 

Which grace shall I make love to first? — your skill, 

Or faith in things? — or is't your wealth and will 

T' instruct and teach? — or your unwearied pain 

Of gathering? — bounty in pouring out again? 

AVhat fables have you vexed, what truth redeemed, 

Antiquities searched, opinions disesteemed, 

Impostures branded, and authorities urged! 

AVliat blots and errors have you watched and purged 

Records and authors of! How rectified 

Times, manners, customs! Innovations spied! 

Sought out the fountains, sources, creeks, paths, ways, 

And noted the beginnings and deca^-s! 

Where is that nominal mark, or real rite, 

Ftjrm, act, or ensign, that hath 'scaped your sight? 

How are traditions there examined! How 

Conjectures retrieved! And a storj' now 

And then of times (besides the ba,re conduct 

Of wdiat it tells us) weaved in to instruct! 

I wondered at the richness, but am lost, 

To see the v^'orkmanship so exceed the cost! 

To mark the excellent seasoning of your style, 

An manly elocution; not one while 

Yv'itli ]iorror rough, then rioting with wit; 

Bat to the subject stiil the colors fit 

In sharpness of a,ll search, vrisdom of choice, 

Newness of sense, antiquity of voice! 



360 BEN JONSON. 

I yield, I yield ! tlie matter of j'our praise 
Flows in upon me, and I can not raise 
A bank against it. Nothing but the round 
Large clasp of Nature such a wit can bound. 
Monarch in letters ! 'mongst thy titles shown 
Of others' honors, thus enjoy thy own. 
I first salute thee so ; and gratulate 
With that thy style, thy keeping of thy state, 
In offering this thy work to no great name, [same, 
That would, perhaps, liave praised and thanked the 
But nought beyond. He thou hast given it to. 
Thy learned chamber-fellow,* knows to do 
It true respects : he will not only love. 
Embrace and cherish ; but he can approve 
And estimate thy pains, as having wrought 
In the same mines of knowledge ; and thence brought 
Humanity enough to be a friend, 
And strength to be a champion, and defend 
Thy gifts 'gainst envy. Oh, how I do count 
Among my comings in, and see it mount, 
The gain of your two friendships ! Heyward and 
Selden! two names that so much understand! 
On whom I could take take up, and ne'er abuse 
The credit, that would furnish a tenth muse! 
But here's no time, nor place, my wealth to tell; 
You both are modest. So am I. Farewell. 



AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND, MASTER COLBY, 

TO PEESIJADE lUM TO THE WAES. 

Wake, friend, from forth thy lethargy ! The drum 
Beats brave and loud in Europe, and bids come 
All that dare rouse, or are not loth to quit 
Their vicious ease, and be o'erwhelmed with it. 
It is a call to keep the spirits alive 
That gasp for action, and would yet revive 

* Edward ITeyward. of Carveston, in Norfolk, to whom Selden dedicated 
tho Titles of Honor, as bis "beloyed friend and chamber-fellow." 



VNDERW00D8. 361 

Man's buried honor, in his sleepy life ; 

Quickening dead Nature to her noblest strife. 

All other acts of worldlings are but toil 

111 dreams, begun Id hope, and end in spoil. 

Look on the ambitious man, and see him nurse 

His unjust hopes with praises begged, or, worse, 

Bought flatteries, the issue of his purse, 

Till he become both their and his own curse! 

Look on the false and cunning man, that loves 

No person, nor is loved: what ways he proves 

To gain upon his belly ; and at last 

Crushed in the snaky brakes that he had passed! 

See the grave, sour, and suj^ercilious sir, 

In outward face, but inward, light as fur, 

Or feathers, lay his fortune out to show. 

Till envy wound or maim it at a blow! 

See him that's called, and thought, the haj^piest man, 

Honoreel at once, and envied, if it can 

Be honor is so mixed, but such as would, 

For all their spite, be like him, if they could. 

No part or corner man can look upon. 

But there are objects bid him to be gone 

As far as he can fly, or follow day, 

Bather than here so bogged in vices stay. 

The whole world here leavened with madness swells; 

And, being a thing blown out of nought, rebels 

Against his Maker, high alone with weeds, 

And impious rankness of all sects anel seeds: 

Not to be checked or frightened now with fate, 

But more licentious made, and desperate ! 

Our delicacies are grown capital. 

And even our sports are elangers ! what we call 

Friendship, is now masked hatreel! justice fled, 

And shamefacedness together! all laws dead 

That kept man living! pleasures only sought! 

Honor and honesty, as poor things thought 

As they are maele ! pride and stiff clownage mixed 

To make up greatness ! and man's whole good fixed 

In bravery, or gluttony, or coin, 

All which he makes the servants of the groin,-^ 



362 BEN JOlfBOir. 

Thither it flows! how much did Stallion sj^end 

To have his court-bred filly there commend 

His lace and starch; and fall upon her back 

In admiration, stretched upon the rack 

Of lust, to his rich suit, and title, Lord ? 

Ay, that's a charm and half! she must afford 

That all respect; she must lie down: nay, more, 

'Tis there civilit}^ to be a whore ; 

He's one of blood and fashion ! and with these 

The bravery makes she can no honor leese: 

To do't with cloth, or stuffs, lust's name might merit ; 

With velvet, plush, and tissues, it is spirit ! 

Oh, these so ignorant monsters! light, as proud! 
Who can behold their manners, and not cloud- 
Like on them lighten? If that Nature could 
Not make a verse, anger or laughter would, 
To see them aj^e discoursing with their glass, 
How they may make some one that day an ass. 
Planting their purls and curls, spread forth like net, 
And every dressing for a pitfall set 

To catch the flesh in, and to pound a ; 

Be at their visits, see them squeamish, sick, 

Ready to cast at one whose baud sits ill, 

And then leap mad on a neat pickardil,* 

As if a brize were gotten in their tail ; 

And firk, and jerk, and for the coachman rail. 

And jealous each of other, yet think long 

To be abroad, chanting some bawdy song. 

And laugh, and measure thighs, then squeak, spring, 

Do all the tricks of a salt lady bitch ! [itch, 

For t'other pound of sweetmeats, he shall feel 

That pays, or what he w^ill : the dame is steel ; 

For these with her young company she'll enter. 

Where Pitts, or Wright, or Modet would not venture; 

And comes by these degrees, the style t' iulierit, 

Of woman of fashion, and a lady of spirit. 

* A stiff colhir, or riiff, generally with sharp points; supposed to he de- 
rived from picca, a spear-head. Tiiis rutf came into fashion early in the 
rei^^n of James I.; and, according to some authorities, gave its name to the 
street, Piccadilly. 



UNDERWOODS, 363 

I^or is tlie title questioned ; with our proud, 

Great, brave, and fasliioned folk, these are allowed ; 

Adulteries now, are not so hid, or strange, 

They're grown commodity upon Exchange ; 

He that will follow but another's wdfe, 

Is loved, though he let out his own for life ; 

The husband's now called churlish, or a poor 

Nature, that will not let his wife be a whore; 

Or use all arts, or haunt all companies 

That may corruj^t her, even in his eyes. 

The brother trades a sister; and the friend 

Lives to the lord, but to the lady's end. 

Less must not be thought on than mistress ; or 

If it be thought, killed like her embrions ; for, 

"Whom no great mistress hath as yet infamed, 

A fellow of coarse lechery is named 

The servant of the serving-woman, in scorn. 

Ne'er came to taste the plenteous marriage-horn. 

Thus they do talk. And are these objects fit 
For man to spend his mone}^ on? — his wit? 
His time? — health? — soul? — will he for these go throw 
Those thousands on his back, shall after blow 
His body to the Counters, or the Fleet? 
Is it for these that Fineman meets the street 
Coached, or on foot-cloth, thrice changed every day, 
To teach each suit he has, the ready v\'ay 
From Hyde Park to the stage, where at the last 
His dear and borrowed bravery he must cast? 
When not his combs, his curling-irons, his glass 
Sweet bags, sweet powders, nor sweet words will pass 
For les^s security? Oh heavens! for these 
Is it that man pulls on himself disease, 
Surfeit, and quarrel? — drinks the t'other health? 
Or by damnation voids it. or by stealth? 
What fury of late is crept into our feasts? 
What honor given t > the drunkenest guests? 
What reputation to bear one glass more, 
When oft the bnirer is borne out of door? 
This hath our ill-used freedom, and soft peace 
brought on us, and will every hour increase, 



364 BEN JONSON. 

Our vices do not tarry in a place, 

But being in motion still, or rather in race, 

Tilt one upon another, and now bear 

This way, now that, as if their number were 

More than themselves, or than our lives could take, 

But both fell pressed under the load they make. 

I'll bid thee look no more, but, flee, flee, friend, 
This precipice, and rocks that have no end, 
Or side, but threatens ruin. The whole day 
Is not enough, now, but the nights to play ; [waste^ 
And whilst our states, strength, body, and mind wfe 
Go make ourselves the usurers at a cast. 
He that no more for age, cramps, palsies can 
Now use the bones, we see doth hire a man 
To take the box up for him ; and pursues 
The dice with glassen eyes, to the glad views 
Of what he throws : like lechers grown content 
To be beholders, when their powers are spent. 

Can we not leave this worm? — or will we not? 
Is that the truer excuse? — or have we got 
In this, and like, an itch of vanity. 
That scratching now's our best felicity? 
Well, let it go. Yet this is better than 
To lose the forms and dignities of men. 
To flatter my good lord, and cry his bowl 
Runs sweetly, as it had his lordship's soul; — 
Although, perhaps, it has, what's that to me, 
That may stand by, and hold my peace? — will he. 
When I am hoarse with praising his each cast. 
Give me but that again, that I must waste 
In sugar candied, or in buttered beer. 
For the recovery of my voice? No, there 
Pardon his lordship ; flattery is grown so cheap 
With him, for he is followed with that heap 
That watch, and catch, at what they may ajoplaud, 
As a poor single flatterer, without bawd 
Is nothing, such, scarce meat and drink he'll give 
But he that's both, and slave to botli, shall live. 
And be beloved, while the whores last. Oh times! 
Friend, fly from hence, and let these kindled rhymes 



UNDERWOODS. 365 

Light thee from hell on earth ; where flatterers, spies, 
Informers, masters both of arts and lies ; 
Lewd slanderers, soft whisperers that let blood 
The life, and fame- veins ; yet not understood 
Of the poor sufferers; where the envious, proud, 
Ambitious, factious, superstitious, loud- 
Boasters, and perjured, with the infinite more 
Prevaricators swarm ; of which the store, 
Because they're everywhere amongst mankind 
Spread through the world, is easier far to find. 
Than once to number, or bring forth to hand. 
Though thou wert muster-master of the land. 

Go. quit them all ! And take along with thee. 
Thy true friend's wishes, Colby, which shall be, 
That thine be just and lionest, that thy deeds 
Not wound th}^ conscience, when thy body bleeds ; 
That thou dost all things more for truth than glory, 
And never but for doing wrong be sorry ; 
That by commanding first thyself, thou mak'st 
Thy person fit for any charge thou tak'st ; 
That fortune never make thee to complain, 
But what she gives, thou dar'st give her again; 
That whatsoever face thy fate puts on, 
Thou shrink or start not, bat be always one; 
That thou think nothing great, but what is good. 
And from that thought strive to be understood. 
So, live or dead, thou wilt preserve a frane 
Still precious with the odor of thy name. 
And last, blaspheme not : we did never hear 
Man thought the valianter 'cause he durst swear ; 
No more than we should think a lord had had 
More honor in him, 'cause we've known him mad. 
These take: and now go seek thy peace in war. 
Who falls for love of God, shall rise a star. 



EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. 
They are not, sir, worst owers that do pay 
Debts when they can : good men may break their day, 
And yet the noble nature never grudge: 
'Tis then a crime, when the usurer is judge. 



866 BEIf J0N80N. 

And he is not in friendship ; nothing there 

Is done for gain : if 't be, 'tis not sincere. 

Nor should I at this time protested be, 

But that some greater names have broke with me, 

And their words too, where* I but break my band;t 

I add that but, because I understand 

That as the lesser breach; for he that takes 

Simply my band, his trust in me forsakes, 

And looks unto the forfeit. If you be 

NoAV so much friend, as you would trust in me, 

Venture a longer time, and willingly : 

All is not barren land doth fallow lie; 

Some grounds are made the richer for the rest; 

And I will bring a crop, if not the best. 



AN EPITAPH ON MASTER PHILIP GRAY. 

Reader, stay! 
And if I had no more to say, 
But here doth lie, till the last day, 
All that is left of Philip Gray, 
It might thy patience richly pay: 
For if such men as he could die. 
What surety of life have thou and I ? 



AN ELEGY. 
Can beauty, that did prompt me first to write. 
Now threaten with those means she did invite? 
Did her perfections call me on to gaze, 
Then like, then love; and now would they amaze? 
Or was she gracious afar off, but near 
A terror? — or is all this but my fear? 
That as the water mikes things, put in't straight. 
Crooked appear, so that doth my conceit? 
I can help that with boldness ; and Love sware. 
And Fortune once, t' assist the spirits that dare.ij: 



* Whereas. t Bond. 

I He nlludes to the two proverbs ^aint Heart, &c., a\n\ Fortes Fortuiia 
juvat.—Gr, 



VNDEnwoODS. 367 

But which shall lead me on? — both these are blmd. 
Such guides men use not, who their way would find, 
Except the way be error to those ends : 
And then tlie best are still the blindest friends! 
Oil how a lover may mistake! to think 
Or Love, or Fortune blind, when they but wink 
To see men fear; or else for truth and state, 
Because they would free justice imitate, 
Veil their own eyes, and would impartially 
Be brought by us to meet our destiiiy. 
If it be thus, come Love, and Fortune too, 
I'll lead you on ; or if my fate will so, 
That I must send one first, my choice assigns 
Love to my heart, and Fortune to my lines. 

♦ 

AN ELEGY. 
By those bright eyes, at whose immortal fires 
Love lights his torches to inflame desires ; 
By that fair stand, your forehead, whence he bends 
His double bow, and round his arrows sends; 
By that tall grove, your hair, whose gicby rings 
He flying curls, and crispeth with his wings; 
By those i)ure baths your either cheek discloses, 
AMiere he doth steep himself in milk and roses; 
And lastly, by your lips, the bank of kisses. 
Where men at once may plant and gather blisses : 
Tell me, my loved friend, do you love or no? 
So well as I may tell in verse, 'tis so? 
You blush, but do not: — friends are either none, 
Though they may number bodies, or but oue. 
I'll therefore ask no more, but bid you love, 
And so that either may example prove 
Unto the other; and live patterDS, how 
Others, in time, may love as we do now. 
Slip no occasion ; as time stands not still, 
I know no beauty, nor no youth that will. 
To use the present, then, is not abuse. 
You have a husband is the just excuse 
Of all that can be done him ; such a one 
As would make shift to make himself alone 



368 . BBN JONSON. 

That which we can ; who both in you, his wife, 
His issue, and all circumstance of life. 
As in his place, because he v^^ould not vary, 
Is constant to be extraordinary. 



A SATIRICAL SHRUB. 

A woman's friendship! God, whom I trust in, 
Forgive me this one foolish deadly sin, 
Amongst m}^ man}^ other, that I may 
No more, I am sorry for so fond cause, say 
At fifty years, almost, to value it, 
That ne'er was known to last above a fit! 
Or have the least of good, but what it must 
Put on for fashion, and take up on trust. 
Knew I all this afore? — had I perceived 
That their whole life was wickedness, though weaved 
Of many colors ; outward, fresh from spots. 
But their whole inside full of ends and knots? 
Knew I that all their dialogues and discourse 
Were such as I will now relate, or worse? 
[Here sometldng is wanting.'] 

^ ■Jp y^ ■5(c' *5f ^ * 

Knew I this woman? Yes, and you do see, 
How penitent I am, or I should be. 
Do not you ask to know her, she is worse 
Than all ingredients made into one curse. 
And that poured out upon mankind, can be: 
Think but the sin of all her sex, 'tis she! 
I could forgive her being proud! a whore! 
Perjured! and painted! if she were no more. 
But she is such, as she might yet forestall 
The devil, and be the damning of us all. 

♦^ 

A LITTLE SHRUB GROWING BY. 

Ask not to know this man. If fame should speak 
His name in any metal, it would break. 
Two letters were enough the plague to tear 
Out of his grave, and poison every ear. 



UNDERWOODS. 369 

A parcel of court-dirt, a heap, and mass 
Of all vice hurled together, there he was, 
Proud, false, and treacherous, vindictive, all 
That thought can add, unthankful, the lay-stall 
Of putrid flesh alive! — of blood, the sink! 
And so I leave to stir him. lest he stink. 



AN ELEGY. 

Though beauty be the mark of praise, 
And yours, of whom I sing, be such 
As not the world can praise too much, 

Yet is't your virtue now I raise. 

A virtue, like allay, so gone 

Throughout your form, as though that move, 
And draw, and conquer all men's love, 

This subjects you to love of one, 

Wherein you triumph yet: because 
'Tis of yourself, and that you use 
The noblest freedom, not to choose 

Against or faith, or honor's laws. 

But who could less expect from you, 
In whom alone Love lives again? 
By whom he is restored to men ; 

And kept, and bred, and brought up true? 

His falling temples you have reared. 
The withered garlands ta'en awaj^ ; 
His altars kept from the decay 

That envy wished, and Nature feared; 

And on them burns so chaste a flame. 
With so much loyalty's expense, 
As Love, t' acquit such excellence. 

Is gone himself into your name. 

And you are he; the deity 

To whom all lovers are designed. 
That woiild their better objects find; 

Among which faithful troop am I j 



370 BEN JOJ\^SOIi. 

Who, as an offering at your shrine, 

Have sung this hymn, and here entreat 
One spark of your diviner heat 

To light upon a love of mine ; 

Which, if it kindle not, but scant 
Appear, and that to shortest view, 
Yet give me leave t' adore in you 

What I, in her, am grieved to want. 



AN ELEGY. 

Fair friend, 'tis true your beauties move 

My heart to a respect, 
Too little to be paid with love. 

Too great for your neglect ! 

I neither love, nor yet am free ; 

For though the flame I find 
Be not intense in the degree, 

'Tis 01 the purest kind. 

It little wants of love but pain ; 

Your beauty takes my sense, 
And lest you should that price disdain. 

My thoughts to feel the influence. 

'Tis not a passion's first access. 

Ready to multiply; 
But like love's calmest state it is 

Possessed with victory. 

It is like love to truth reduced, 

All the false values gone, 
Which were created, and induced 

By fond imagination. 

'Tis either fancy or 'tis fate. 

To love you more than I ; 
I love you at your beauty's rate, 

Less were an injury. 



UNDER WOODS. 371 

Like unstamped gokl, I ^Yeigll each grace, 

So that yon may collect 
Th' iutriiisic\-alue of your face, 

Safely from my respect. 

And this respect would merit love. 

Were not so fair a siglit 
Payment enough : for who dares move 

Reward for his delights 



AN ODE. TO HIMSELF. 

Where dost thou careless lie 

Buried in ease and sloth? 
Knowledge, that sleeps, doth die; 
And this security, 

It is the common moth, [botii. 

TV^i eats on wits and arts, and [so*] destroys them 

Are all the Aonian springs 

Dried up'?— lies Thespia waste? 

Doth Clarius' harp want strings. 

That not a nymph now sings t r- 1 9 

Or droop they as disgraced, [taced . 

To see their seats and bowers by chattermg pies de- 

If hence thy silence be, 

As 'tis too just a cause. 
Let this thought quicken thee : 
Minds that are great and free 

Should not on fortune pause; 
'Tis crown enough to virtue still, her own applause. 

What though the greedy fry 

Be taken with false baits 
Of w^orded balladry. 
And think it poesy? 

They die with their conceits, 
And only piteous scorn upon t heir folly waits ^ 



Th- .leficient svllable is supplied hy Gifford. Wlmlley had inserted 
the ioni ^SJe ' The reader." 'sny« Gifford, -may peraapa stumble upon 
a better substitute thau either. ' 



372 BEN JONSON. 

Then take in hand thy lyre, 

Strike in thy proper strain, 
With Jajohet's hne, aspire 
Sol's chariot for new fire, 

To give the world again: 
Who aided him, will thee, the issue of Jove's brain. 

And since our dainty age. 

Can not endure reproof. 
Make not thyself a page. 
To that strumpet the stage. 

But sing high and aloof. 
Safe from the wolf's black jaw, and the dull ass's hoof. 



THE MIND OF THE FRONTISPIECE TO A BOOK. 

From death and dark oblivion, near the same. 

The mistress of man's life, grave History, 
Raising the world to good and evil fame. 

Doth vindicate it to eternity. 
Wise Providence would so ; that nor the good 

Might be defrauded, nor the great secured, 
But both might know their ways were understood, 

When vice alike in time with virtue dured: 
Which makes that, lighted by the beamy hand 

Of Truth, that searcheth the most hidden springs. 
And, guided by Experience, w^hose straight wand 

Dotli mete, whose line doth sound the depth of things, 
She cheerfully supporteth what she rears. 

Assisted by no strengths but are her own ; 
Some note of which each varied pillar bears. 

By which, as proper titles she is known 
Time's witness, herald of Antiquity, 

The light of Truth, and life of Memory. 




UNDER WOODS. 373 

AN ODE TO JAMES, EARL OF DESMOND. 

WRIT IX QLEEX KLIZAlJETirs TIME, SINCE LOST AND RECOVERED. 

Where art tlion. Genius? I should use 

Thy present aid : arise Invention, 
Wake, and put on the wings of Pindar's Muse, 

To tower with my intention 
High as his mind, that doth advance 
Her uj^right head above the reach of chance, 
Or the time's envy: 
Cynthius, I apply 
My bolder numbers to thy golden lyre: 

Oh then iusj^ire 
Thy priest in this strange rapture ! Heat my brain 

AVith Delphic fire, 
That I may sing my thoughts in some un vulgar strain. 

Rich beam of honor, shed your light 

On these dark rhymes, that my affection 
May shine, through every chink, to every sight 

Graced by your reflection ! 
Then shall my verses, like strong charms, 
Break the knit circle of her stony arms, 
That holds your spirit, 
And keeps your merit 
Locked in her cold embraces, from the view 

Of eyes more true. 
Who would with judgment search, searching conclude. 

As proved in you, 
True noblesse. Palm grows straight, though handled 
ne'er so rude. 

Nor think yourself unfortunate. 

If subject to the jealous errors 
Of 2:)olitic pretext, that wries a state ; 

Sink not beneath these terrors: 
But whisper. Oh, glad innocence. 
Where only a man's birth is his offense; 

Or the disfavor 

Of such as savor 



874 BEN JONSOJY. 

Notliing, but practice upon honor's thrall. 

Oh virtue's fnll ! 
When her dead essence, like the anatomy 

In Surgeon's hall, 
Is but a statist's theme to read phlebotomy. 
Let Brontes, and black Steropes, 
Sweat at the forge, their hammers beating; 
Pyracmon's hour will come to give them ease, 
Though but wdiile the metal's heating: 
And, after all the iEtnean ire, 
Gold, that is perfect, will outlive the fire. 
For fury wasteth, 
As patience lasteth. 
No armor to the mind! He is shot-free 

From injury. 
That is not hurt ; not he, that is not hit ; 

So fools, we see. 
Oft 'scape an imputation, more through luck than wit. 

But to yourself, most loyal lord. 
Whose heart in that bright sphere flames clearest, 
Though man}^ gems be in your bosom stored. 

Unknown which is the dearest; — 

If I auspiciously divine. 
As my hope tells, that our fair Phoebe's shine 

Shall light those places, 

With lustrous graces, 
Where darkness with her gloomy sceptred hand, 

Doth now command ; 
Oh then, my best-best loved, let me importune, 

That you will stand. 
As far from all revolt, as you are now from fortune. 



AN ODE. 
Helen, did Homer never see 
Thy beauties, yet could write of thee? 
Did Sappho, on her seven-tongued lute, 
So speak, as yet it is not mute. 
Of Phaon's form? Or doth the boy, 
Ju whom Anacreon once did joy. 



UNDER WOODS. 375 

Lie drawn to life in his soft verse, 
As he whom Maro did rehearse? 
Was Lesbia snng by learned Catullus, 
Or Delia's graces by Tibullus? 
Doth Cynthia, in Propertius' song, 
Shine more than she the stars among? 
Is Horace his each love so high 
Ript from the earth, as not to die? 
With bright Lyeoris, Gallus' choice, 
Whose fame hath an eternal voice? 
Or hath Corinna, by the name 
Her Ovid gave her, dimmed the fame 
Of Caesar's daughtei-, and the line 
Which all the world then styled divine? 
Hath Petrarch since his Laura raised 
Equal with her? Or Konsard praised 
His new" Cassandra 'bove the old. 
Which all the fate of Troy foretold? 
Hath our great Sidney, Stella set 
Where never star shone brighter yet? 
Or Const-ible's ambrosiac muse 
Made Dian not his notes refuse? 
Have all these done — and yet I miss 
The swan so relished Pancharis — 
And shall not I my CeHa bring, 
Where men may see whom I do sing? 
Though I in working of my song. 
Come short of all this learned throng, 
Yet sure my tunes will be the best, 
So much my subject drovrns the rest. 
-♦ 

AN ODE. 
High-spirited friend, 
I send no balms, nor cor'sives to your wound; 

Youi' fate hath found 
A gentler and more agile hand to tend 
The cui'e of that which is but corporal ; 
And doubtful days, which were named critical, 
Have made their fairest flight, 
And now are out of sight j 



376 BEy JONSON. 

Yet dotli some wholesome physic for the mind 

Wrapped in this paper lie, 
"Which in the taking if you misapply, 

You are unkind. 

Your covetous hand, 
Happy in that fair honor it hath gained, 

Mast now be reined. 
True valor doth her own renown command 
In one full action ; nor have you now more 
To do, than be a husband of that store. 

Think but how dear j^ou bought 

This same which you have caught, 
Sucli thoughts will make you more in love with truth; 

'Tis wisdom, and that high, 
For men to use their fortune reverently, 

Even in youth. 



A SONNET. 

TO THE NOBLE LADY, THE LADY MARY WROTH. 

I that have been a lover, and could show it. 

Though not in these, in rhymes not wholly dumb, 
Since I exscribe your sonnets, am become 

A better lover, and much better poet. 

Nor is my muse nor I ashamed to owe it, 

To those true numerous graces, whereof some 
But charm the senses, others overcome 

Both brains and hearts ; and mine now best do know it: 

For in your verse all Cupid's armory, 

His flames, his shafts, his quiver, and his bow, 
His very eyes are yours to overthrow. 

But then his mother's sweets you so aj^ply, 
Her joys, her smiles, her loves, as readers take 
For Venus' ceston every line you make. 




UNDERWOODS. 377 

A FIT OF RHYME AGAINST RHYME. 
Rhyme, the rack of finest wits, 
That expresseth but by fits 

True conceit, 
Spoiling senses of their treasure, 
Cozening judgment with a measure, 

But false weight ; 
Wresting words from their true calling; 
Propping verse for fear of falling 

To the ground ; 
Jointing syllabes, drowning letters, 
Fastening vowels, as with fetters 

They were bound! 
Soon as laz}- thou wert known, 
All good poetry hence vras flown. 

And art banished; 
For a thousand years together, 
All Parnassus' green did wither, 

And wit vanished! 
Pegasus did fly away; 
At the wells no muse did stay, 

But bewailed, 
So to see the fountain dry, 
And Apollo's music die, 

All light failed! 
Starveling rhymes did fill the stage, 
Not a poet in an age. 

Worthy crowning; 
Not a work deserving bays. 
Nor a line deserving praise, 

Pallas frowning. 
Greek was free from rhyme's infectioiij 
Happy Greek, by this protection, 

Was not spoiled; 
Whilst the Latin, queen of tongues. 
Is not yet free from rhyme's wrongs, 

But rests foiled. 
Scarce the hill again doth flourish. 
Scarce the world a wit doth nourish, 

To restore 



378 BEN J0N80N. 

Plicebus to liis crown again; 
And the Muses to their braiii ; 

As before. 
Vulgar languages that want 
Words, and sweetness, and be scant 

Of true measure, 
T3Tant rhyme hath so abused, 
That they long since have refused 

Other cesure. 
He that first invented thee. 
May his joints tormented be, 

Cramped forever; 
Still may syllabes jar with time. 
Still may reason war with rhyme, 

Kesting never! 
May his sense when it would meet 
The cold tumor in his feet, 

Grow unsounder; 
And his title be long fool, 
That in rearing such a school 
"^ Was the founder! 



AN EPIGRAM 

TO THOMAS, LOUU ELESMEKE, THE LAST TERM HE SAT CIlANCELOR. 

So, justest lord, may all your judgments be 
Laws ; and no change e'er come to one decree : 
So may the lang proclaim your conscience is 
Law to his law, and think your enemies his : 
So, from all sickness, may you rise to health. 
The care and wish still of the public wealth ; 
So may the gentler muses, and good fame, 
Still fly about the odor of your name ; 
As, with the safety and honor of the laws. 
You favor truth, and me, in this man's cause I 




UNDKR WOODS. 8 71) 

ANOTHER TO THE SAME. 

Tlie judge Lis fiivor timely tiien extends, 
When a good cause is destitute of friends, 
Without the pomp of counsel ; or more aid. 
Than to make falsehood blush, and fraud afraid: 
When those good few, that her defenders be, 
Are there for charity, and not for fee. 
8uch shall you hear to-day, and find great foes 
Both armed with wealth and slander to oppose, 
Who, tJius long safe, w^ould gain upon the times 
A right by the prosperity/ of their crimes ; 
Wlio, though their guilt and perjury they know, 
Think, yea, and boast, that they have done it so. 
As, though the court pursues them on the scent, 
They will come off, and 'scape the punishment. 
When this apj^ears, just lord, to your sharp sight. 
He does you wrong", that craves you to do right. 



AN EPIGRAM ON V/ILLIaM, LORD BURLEIGH, 

LORD HIGH TRKASUKEU OF ENGLAND. 

If thou wouldst know the 7irtues of mankind, 

Bead here in one, what thou in all canst find. 

And go no further: let this circle be 

Thy universe, though his epitome. 

Cecil, the grave, the wise, the great, the good, 

Yvliat is there more that can ennoble blood? 

The orphan's pillar, the true subject's shield, 

The poor's full storehouse, and just servant's field; 

The only faithful Vv'atchman for the realm, 

That in all tempests never cpiit the helm. 

But stood unshaken in his deeds and name, 

And labored in the work, not with the fame : 

That still was good for goodness' sa^ve. nor thougbi 

Upon rev\'ard, till the reward him sought; 

Whose ofnoes and honors did surprise. 

Bather tlirn meet him ; and, before his eyes 

Closed to their peace, he saw his branches hJ^o-^k 

And in the noblest families took root 

Of all the land; — Who row, at such a rate. 

Of divine blessing, would r\o^, s^rve a state '^ 



380 BEN JONSON. 

AN EPIGRAM 

TO THE COUNSELOR THAT PLEADED, AND CAURIED THE CAUSE. 

That I hereafter do not think the bar 

The seat made of a more than civil war ; 

Or the great hall of Westminster the held 

Where mutual frauds are fought, and no side yield; 

That henceforth I believe nor books, nor men, 

W^ho, 'gainst the law weave calumnies, my ■;* 

But when I read or hear the names so rife 

Of hireling, w^ranglers, stitchers-to of strife, 

Hook-handed harpies, gow^ned vultures, put 

Upon the reverend pleaders, do now shut 

All mouths that dare entitle them, from hence, 

To the wolf "s study, or dog's eloquence; 

Thou art my cause whose manners, since I knew, 

Have made me to conceive a lawyer new. 

So dost thou study matter, men, and times, 

Mak'st it religion to grow rich by crimes ; 

Dar'st not abuse thy w^isdom in the laws, 

Or skill to carry out an evil cause. 

But first dost vex, and search it ; if not sound. 

Thou prov'st the gentler ways to cleanse the w^ound. 

And make the scar fair; if that will not be. 

Thou hast the brave scorn to put back the fee ! 

But in a business that will bide the touch. 

What use, what strength of reason, and how much 

Of books, of precedents, hast thou at hand ! 

As if the general store thou didst command 

Of argument, still drawing forth the best, 

And not being borrowed by thee, but possessed. 

So com'st thou like a chief into the court 

Armed at all pieces, as to keep a fort 

Against a multitude; and, with thy style 

So brightly brandished, wound'st, defend'st, the while 

Thy adversaries fall, as not a word 

They had, but were a reed unto thy sword ! 

* Wballey fills np the blank with the name of Benn, thinking it probable 
that the person meant was Anthony Benn, who succeeded the solicitor 
Coventry iu the recordership of Loudon. 



UNDERWOODS. 381 

Then com'st thou off with victory and palm, 
Thy hearer's nectar, and thy client's balm, 
The court's just honor, and thy judge's love ; 
And, which doth all achievements get above, 
Thy sincere practice breeds not thee a fame 
Alone, but all thy rank*a reverend name. 



A SONG. 



LOVER. 

Come, let us here enjoy the shade, 
For love in shadow best is made. 
Though envy oft his shadow be. 
None brooks the sunlight worse than he. 

MISTRESS. 

Where love doth shine, there needs no sun, 
All lights into his one do run. 
Without which all the world were dark ; 
Yet he himself is but a spark. 

ARBITER. 

A spark to set whole world a-fire. 
Who, more they burn, they more desire. 
And have their being, their waste to see ; 
And waste still, that they still might be. 

CHORUS. 

Such are his powers, whom time hath styled, 
Now swift, now slow, now tame, now wild ; 
Now hot, now cold, now fierce, now mild ; 
The eldest god, yet still a child. 



AN EPITAPH. 



What beauty would have lovely styled, 
AVhat manners pretty, nature mild, 
AVhat wonder perfect, all were filed 
Upon record, in this blest child. 
And, till the coming of the soul 
To fetch the fiesh, we keep the rolL 



.182 BEN J0N80N. 

AN EPIGRAM. TO THE SMALLPOX. 

Envious and foul Disease, could there not be 

One beauty in an age, and free from thee? 

What did she worth thy spite? Were there not store 

Of those that set by their false faces more 

Than this did by her true? Sh^ never sought 

Quarrel with Natui'e, or in balance brought 

Art her false servant : nor, for Sir Hugh Plat, 

Was drawn to practice other hue than that 

Her own blood gave her: she ne'er had, nor hath 

Any belief in Madam Bawdbee's bath, 

Or Turner's oil of talc ; nor ever got 

Spanish receipt to make her teeth to rot. 

What was the cause then? Thought'st thou, in disgrace 

Of beauty, so to nullify a face. 

That heaven should make no more ; or should amiss 

Make all hereafter, hadst thou ruined this ? 

Ay, that thy aim was; but her fate prevailed: 

And, scorned, thou'st shown thy malice, but hast failed ! 



AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. 

:Sir, I am thankful, first to heaven for you; 
Next to yourself, for making your love true : 
Then to your love and gift. And all's but due. 

You have unto my store added a book. 

On which with profit I shall never look, 

But must confess from whom that gift I took. 

Not like your country neighbors that commit 
Their vice of loving for a Christmas fit. 
Which is indeed but friendship of the spit; 

But as a friend, which name yourself receive. 
And which you, being the worthier, gave me leave 
In letters, that mix spirits, thus to weave. 

Which, how most sacred I will ever keep, 
So may the fruitful vine my temples steep, 
And fame wake for me w^hen I yield to sleep 1 



UNDER WOODS. 383 

Though you sometimes proclaim me too severe, 

Eigid, and harsh, which is a drug austere 

III friendship, I confess: but, dear friend, hear: 

Little know they, that profess amity, 
And seek to scant her comely libert}', 
How much they lame her in her property. 

And less they know, who being free to use 

That friendship which no chance but love did choose, 

Will unto licence that fair leave abuse. 

It is an act of tyranny, not love, 

In practiced friendship wholly to reprove. 

As flattery, with friends' humors still to move. 

From each of which I labor to be free; 
Yet if with cither's vice I tainted be. 
Forgive it, as my frailty, and not me. 

For no man lives so out of ]:>assion's sway 
But shall sometimes be tem^^ted to obey 
Her fury, yet no friendship to betray. 



AN ELEGY. 



'Tis true, I'm broke! Vows, oaths, and all I had 

Of credit lost. And I am now run mad ; 

Or do upon myself some desperate ill; 

This sadness makes no approaches, but to kill. 

It is a darkness hath blocked up my sense, 

And drives it in to eat on my offense. 

Or there to starve it. Help, oh, you that may 

Alone lend succors, and this fury stay ! 

Offended mistress, you are yet so fair. 

As light breaks from you that affrights despair. 

And fills my j^ovvers with persuading joy, 

That you should be too noble to destroy. 

There may some face or menace of a storm 

Look fortli, but can not last in such a form. 

If there be nothing worthy ycu can see 

Of graces, or your mercy here in me, 



384 BEN JONSON. 

Spare your own goodness yet ; and be not great 

In will and power, only to defeat, 

God and the good know to forgive and save; 

The ignorant and fools no pity have. 

I will not stand to justify my fault, 

Or lay the excuse upon the vintner's vault; 

Or in confessing of the crime be nice, 

Or go about to countenance the vice, 

By naming in what company 'twas in, 

As I would urge authority for sin ; 

No, I will stand arraigned and cast, to be 

The subject of your grace in pardoning me, 

And, styled your mercy's creature, will live more 

Your honor now, than your disgrace before. 

Think it was frailty, mistress, think me man, 
Think that yourself, like heaven, forgive me can: 
Where weakness doth offend, and virtue grieve, 
There greatness takes a glory to relieve. 
Think that I once was yours, or may be now ; 
Nothing is vile, that is a part of you. 
Error and folly in me may have crossed 
Your just commands: yet those, not I, be lost. 
I am regenerate now, become the child 
Of your comj^assion; parents should be mild; 
Tiiere is no father that for one demerit, 
Or two, or three, a son will disinherit ; 
That is the last of punishments is meant; 
No man inflicts that j^ain till hope be spent ; 
An ill-affected limb, whate'er it ail. 
We cut not off till all cures else do fail ; 
And then with pause ; for severed once, that's gone, 
Would live his glory that could keep it on. 
Do not desjDair my mending ; to distrust 
Before you prove a medicine, is unjust; 
You may so place me, and in such an air, 
As not alone the cure, but sear be fair. 
That is, if still your favors you apply, 
And, not the bounties you have done, deny. 

Could you demand the gifts you gave, again! 
Why wasf? Did e'er the clouds ask back their rain? 



UNDERWOODS. 385 

The sun his heat and Hghf? The ah* his dew? 
Or \viiids the sj^irit by which the flower so grew? 
That were to wither all, and make a grave 
Of that wise Nature would a cradle have! 
Her order is to cherish and preserve, 
Consumption's, Nature to destroy and starve. 
But to exact again what once is given, 
Is N:--ture's mere obliquit}' ; as Heaven 
Should ask the blood and spirits he hath infused 
In man, because man hath the flesh abused. 

Oh. may your wisdom take example hence! 
God lightens not at man's each frail offense: 
He pardons elips, goes by a world of ills, 
And then his thunder frights more than it kills. 
He can not angry be, but all must quake; 
It shakes even Him that all things else doth shak<v;, 
And how more fair and lovely looks the world 
In a calm sky, than when the heaven is hurled 
About in clouds, and wrapt in raging Aveather- 
As all with storm and tempest ran together! 

Oh, imitate that sw^eet serenity 
That makes us live, not that wdiicli calls to die. 
In dark and sullen morns, do we not say. 
This looketh like an execution day; 
And with the vulgar doth it not obtain 
The name of cruel weather, storm and rain? 
Be not affected with these marks too much 
Of cruelty, lest they do make you such ; 
But view the mildness of your Maker's state, 
As I the penitent's here emulate. 
He, when he sees a sorrow, such as this, 
Straight puts off all his anger, and doth kiss 
The contrite soul, who hath no thought to wiE 
Upon the hope to have another sin 
Forgiven him: and in that line stind I. 
Rather than once displease you more, to die, 
To suffer tortures, scorn, and infamy, 
What fools, raid all their pirasites cm app'ly; 
The wdt of ale, and genins of the malt 
Can pump for, or a libel w^ithout salt 



386 BEN JONSON. 

Produce ; though threatening with a coal or chalk. 

On every wall, and sung where'er I walk. 

I number these as being of the chore 

Of contumely, and urge a good man more 

Than sword, or fire, or what is of the race 

To carry noble danger in the face: 

There is not any punishment, or pain, 

A man sliould fly from, as he would disdain. 

Then, mistress, here, here let 3'our rigor end. 

And let your mercy make me ashamed to offend; 

I will no more abuse my vows to you. 

Than I will study falsehood to be true. 

Oh, that you could but by dissection see 
How much you are the better part of me; 
How all my fibers by your spirit do move, 
And that there is no life in me, but love ! 
You would be then most confident, that though 
Public affairs command me now to go 
Out of your eyes, and be a while away. 
Absence or distance shall not breed decay. 
Your form shines here, here fixed in my heart: 
I may dilate myself, but not depart. 
Others by common stars their courses run, 
When I see j^ou, then I do see my sun : 
Till then 'tis all but darkness ttiat I have; 
Rather than want your light, I wish a grave. 



AN ELEGY. 



To make the doubt clear, that no woman's true, 

Was it my fate to prove it full in you? 

Thought I, but one had breathed the purer air, 

And must she needs be false because she's fair? 

Is it your beauty's mark, or of your youth, 

Or your perfection, not to study truth? 

Or think 3'ou heaven is deaf, or hath no eyes, 

Or those it hath wink at your perjuries? 

Are vows so cheap with women? Or the matter 

Whereof they're made, that they were writ in water, 



UNDERWOODS. ^87 

And blown away with wind? Or doth their breath, 
Both hot and cold at once, threat life and death ? 
Who could have thought so many accents sweet 
Tuned to our words, so many sighs should meet 
Blown from our hearts, so many oaths and tears 
Sprinkled among, all sweeter by our fears. 
And the divine impression of stol'n kisses, 
That sealed the rest, could now prove empty blisses? 
Did you draw bonds to forfeit'? Sign to break? 
Or must we read you quite from what 3'ou speak. 
And find the truth out the w-rong way? Or must 
He first desire you false, would wish you just? 
Oh, I profane ! Though most of women be 
The common monster, thought shall except thee, 
My dearest love, though fro ward jealousy 
With circumstance might urge the contrary. 
Sooner I'll think the sun would cease to cheer 
The teeming earth, and that forget to bear; 
Sooner that rivers would run back, or Thames 
With ribs of ice in June would bind his streams; 
Or Nature, by whose strength the world endures, 
Would change her course, before you alter yours. 

But, oh, that treacherous breast ! to wdiom weak you, 
Did trust our counsels, and we both may rue, 
Having his falsehood found too late! 'Twas he 
That made me cast you guilt}^, and you me; 
Whilst he, black wretch, betrayed each simj^le word 
We spake, unto the cunning of a third ! 
Cursed may he be, that so our love hath slain, 
And wander wretched on the earth, as Cain ; 
Wretched as he, and not deserve least pity ! 
In plaguing him, let misery be witty. 
Let all e^^es shun him, and he shun each eye, 
Till he be noisome as his infamy; 
May he without remorse deny God thrice, 
And not be trusted more on his soul's price; 
And after all self-torment, when he dies. 
May wolves tear out his heart, vultures his eyes, 
Swine eat his bowels, and his falser tongue, 
That uttered all, be to some raven flung ; 



388 BEN JONSON. 

And let his carrion corse be a longer feast 
To the king's dogs, thaa any other beast! 

Now I have cursed, let ns our love revive ; 
In me the flame was never more alive. 
I could begin again to court and praise, 
And in that pleasure lengthen the short daj^s 
Of my life's lease; like painters that do take 
Delight, not in made works, but whilst they makeo 
I could renew those times when first I saw 
Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law 
To like what you liked, and at masques and plays. 
Commend the selfsame actors the same ways; 
Ask how you did, and often with intent 
Of being offlcious, grow impertinent; 
All which were such soft pastimes, as in these 
Love was as subtly catched as a disease ; 
But, being got, it is a treasure sweet, 
Which to defend, is harder than to get; 
And ought not be profiined on either part, 
For though 'tis got by chance, 'tis kept by art. 



AN ELEGY. 



That love's a bitter sweet, I ne'er conceive, 

'Till the sour minute comes of taking leave, 

And then I taste it: but as men drink up 

In haste the bottom of a medicined cup. 

And take some syrup after ; so do I, 

To put all relish from my memory 

Of parting, drowai it, in the hope to meet 

Shortly again, and make our absence sweet. 

This makes me, mistress, that sometimes by stealthy 

Under another name, I take your health, 

And turn the ceremonies of those nights 

I give, or owe my friends, unto your rites; 

But ever without blazon, or least shade 

Of vows so sacred, and in silence made: 

For though love thrive, and may grow up with cheer, 

And free societ}^, he's born elsewhere, 



UNDER WOODS, 389 

And must be bred, so to conceal his birtli, 

As neitlur wine do rack it out. or mirtli. 

Yet should the lover still be airy and light, 

In all his actions, rarefied to sprite; 

Not like a Hildas, shut up in himself, 

And turning all he touchetli into pelf. 

Keep in reserved in his dark-lantern face, 

As if that excellent dullness were love's grace: 

No, mistress, no ! The open, merr}^ man 
Moves like a sprightly river, and yet can 
Keep secret in his channels what he breeds, 
'Bove all your standing waters, choked with weeds. 
They look at best like cream-bowds, and you soon 
Shall find their depth; they are sounded witli a spoon. 
They may say grace, and for Love's chaplains pass, 
But the grave lover ever was an ass ; 
Is fixed upon one leg. and dares not come 
Out with the other, for he's still at home; 
Like the dull wearied crane, that, come on land, 
Doth while he keeps his watch, betray his stand; 
Where he that knows will like a lapwing fiy 
Far from the nest, and so himself belie 
To others, as he will deserve the trust 
Due to that one that doth believe him just. 
And such your servant is, wdio vows to keej^ 
The jewel of j^our name as close as sleep 
Can lock the sense up, or the heart a thought, 
And never be by time or folly brought, 
Weakness of brain, or any charm of wine. 
The sin of boast, or other countermine 
Made to blow up love's secrets, to discover 
Tliat article maj' not become your lover: 
Which in assurance to your breast I tell. 
If I had writ no word, l3ut, dear, farewell ! 



AN ELEGY. 
Since you must go, and I must bid farewell, 
Hear, mistress, your departing servant tell 
What it is like: and do not think they can 
Be idle v.'ords, though of a parting man. 



S90 BEN JONSOK. 

It is as if a nigbt should shade noon-day, 

Or that the sun was here, but forced away ; 

And we were left under that hemisphere, 

Where we must feel it dark for half a year. 

What fate is this, to change men's days and hours, 

To shift their seasons, and destroy their powers ! 

Alas ! I have lost my heat, my blood, my prime. 

Winter has come a quarter ere his time! 

My health will leave me ; and when you depart, 

How shall I do, sweet mistress, for -my heart? 

You would restore it? No, that's worth a fear, 

As if it were not worthy to be there : 

Oh, keep it still ; for it had rather be 

Your sacrifice, than here remain with me ; 

And so I spare it ; come what can become 

Of me, I'll softly tread unto my tomb ; 

Or, like a ghost, walk silent amongst men. 

Till I may see both it and you again. 

^. 

AN ELEGY. 
Let me be what I am ; as Virgil cold. 
As Horace fat, or as Anacreon old ; 
No poet's verses yet did ever move, 
Whose readers did not think he was in love. 
Who shall forbid me then in rhyme to be 
As light and active as the youngest he 
That from the Muses' fountains doth indorse 
His lines, and Jiourly sits the jDoet's horse? 
Put on my ivy garland ; let me see 
Who frowns, who jealous is, \\Aio taxeth me. 
Fathers and husbands, I do claim a right 
In all that is called lovely : take my sight, 
Sooner than my affection from the fair; 
No face, no hand, proportion, line or air 
Of beauty, but the muse hath interest in: 
There is not worn that lace, purl, knot, or pin, 
But is the poet's matter ; and he must 
When he is furious, love, although not lust. 
But then content, your daughters and your wives, 
If they be fair and worth it, have their lives 



UNDERWOODS. 391 

Made longer by our praises ; or, if not, 
AVisb you had foul ones, and deformed got. 
Cursed in their cradles, or there changed by elves, 
So to be sure you do enjoy yourselves, 
Yet keep those up in sackcloth too, or leather. 
For silk will draw some sneaking songster thither. 
It is a rhyming age, and verses swarm 
At every stall ; the city cap's a charm. 

But I who live, and have lived twenty year, 
Where I may handle silk as free, and near, 
As any mercer, or the whalebone man 
That quilts those bodies I have leave to span ; 
Have eaten with the beauties, and the wits, 
And braveries of court, and felt their fits 
Of love and hate ; and came so nigh to know 
Whether their faces where their own or no : 
It is not likely I should now^ look down 
Upon a velvet petticoat, or a gown. 
Whose like I have known the tailor's wife put on, 
To do her husband's rites in, ere 'twere gone 
Home to the customer; his lechery 
Being the best clothes still to preoccupy. 
Put a coach-mare in tissue, must I horse 
Her presently? Or leap thy wife of force, 
When by thy sordid bounty she hath on 
A gown of that was the caparison? 
So I might dote upon thy chairs and stools, 
That are like clothed ; must I be of those fools 
Of race accounted, that no passion have, 
But when thy wife, as thou conceiv'st, is brave? 
Then ope thy wardrobe, think me that poor groom 
That, from the footman, when he was become 
An officer there, did make most solemn love 
To every petticoat he brushed, and glove 
He did lay up; and w^ould adore the shoe 
Or slipper was left off, and kiss it too ; 
Court every hanging gown, and, after that, 
Lift up some one, and do, — I tell not what. 
Thou didst tell me, and wert o'erjoyed to peep 
In at a hole, and see these actions creep 



392 BEN JONSON. 

From the poor wretcli, which thou.gh he plaied in prose, 
He would have done in verse, with any of those 
Wrung on the withers by lord Love's despite, 
Had lie had the faculty to read and write! 

Such songsters there are store of; witness he 
That chanced the lace, laid on a sm:}ck, to see, 
And straightway spent a sonnet ; with that other 
That, in pure madrigal, unto his mother 
Commended the French hood and scarlet gown 
The lady-mayoress passed in through the town, 
Unto the Spittle sermon. " Oh, what strange 
Yariety of silks x^evQ on the Exchange ! 
Or in Moorlields ! •" this other night, sings one; 
Another answers, '•"las! those silks are none!" 
In smiling V envoy, as he would deride 
Any comparison had with his Cheapside; 
And vouches both the pageant a,nd the day, 
W-iien not the shops, but w^indows do dis23lay 
The stuffs, the velvets, plushes, fringes, lace, 
And all the original riots of the place. 
Let the poor fools enjoy their follies, love 
A ""oat in velvet ; or some block could move 
Under that cover, an old midv/ife's hat, 
Or a close-stool so cased; or any fat 
Bawd, in a velvet scabbard ! I envy 
None of their pleasures ; nor will ask thee why 
Thou art jealous of thy wife's or daughter's case, 
More than of ^cither's manners, wit, or face! 



AN EXECRATION UPON VULCAN.* 

And why to me this, thou lame lord of fire? 
"What had I done that might call on thine ire? 
Or urge thy greedy flames thus to devour 
So many my years' labors in an hour? 



* By tlie lire to which this poem alhidus, Joiison's library was destroyed, 
and with it a lar<re quantity of liis MSS., iiichi(lin<; some luitinislied, and 
some complete. He seems to have boriie iiis iricparable loss with extia- 
ordinary coniposnre, satisfying his vexation by this pleasant revenge npnn 
niisfoj'tune. He here enniiierates most of the MSS. that perished: a life 
'of ih'iiry v.. nearly comj)ieted ; an account of his journey into Scotland; 
The Ji'ajje of Proserpine; the poem ou the ladies of Great Britain, alluded to 



UNDER WOODS. 393 

I ne'er attempted, Vulcan, 'gainst thy life; 

Nor made least line of love to tliy loc^se wife; 

Or in rememln'ance of thy affront and scorn, 

With clowns and tradesmen, kept thee closed in horn.* 

'Twas Jupiter that hurled thee headlong down, 

And Mars that gave thee a lantern for a crown. 

Was it because thou wert of old denied, 

By Jove, to have Minerva for thy bride ; 

That since, thou tak'st all envious care and pain 

To ruin every issue of the brain? 

Had I wrote treason here, or heresy, 
Imposture, witchcraft, charms, or blasphemy, 
I had deserved then thy consuming looks, 
Perhaps to have been burned with my books. 
But. on thy malice, tell me, didst thou spy 
Any least loose or scurril paper lie 
Concealed, or kept here, that was fit to be, 
By thy own vote, a sacrifice to thee? 
Did I there wound the honor of the crown? 
Or tax the glory of the church or gown? 
Itch to defame the state, or brand the times. 
And myself most, in lewd self-boasting rhymes? 
If none of these, then w^hy this fire? Or find 
A cause before, or leave me one behind. 

Had I compiled from Amadis de Gaul, 
The Esplandians, Arthurs, Palmerins, and all 
The learned library of Don Quixote, 
And so some goodlier monster had begot; 
Or spun out riddles, or weaved fifty tomes 
Of logogriphs, and curious palindromes. 
Or 23umped for those hard trifles, anagrams, 
Or eteostics, or your finer flams 
Of eggs, and halberds, cradles, and a hearse, 
A pair of scissors, and a comb in verse ; 
Acrostics, and telestichs on jump names. 
Thou then hadst had some color for thy flames, 

in his epistle to tlie Countess of Rntlaiul ; some drnmas; an English gr;ini- 
niiir, of wiiicli coiisiflei'able frairnieiits have l)een preserved; and the glean- 
iiiirs of twenry-fniir years' stiuiy in iiliilosophy and (iivinity. 

* A joke of very aiicienr stajidinLi : Ilcuti tu, 'jui Yalcaiiain conclutnim in 
eornu goria .'— riaut. Avij^hytr.—\V. 



S94 BEN JONSON. 

Ou such my serious follies. But, tliou'lt say, 

There were some pieces of as base allay, 

And as false stamp there ; parcels of a play. 

Fitter to see the tirelight than the day ; 

Adulterate moneys, such as would not ^o: — 

Thou shouldst have stayed till public Fame said so; 

She is the judge, thou executioner; 

Or, if thou needs wouldst trench upon her power. 

Thou mightst have yet enjoyed thy cruelty 

With some more thrift, and more variety: 

Thou mightst have had me perish piece by piece, 

To light tobacco, or save roasted geese, 

Singe capons, or crisp pigs, drop23ing their eyes, 

Condemned me to the ovens wdtli the j^ies ; 

And so have kept me djdng a w^hole age. 

Not ravished all hence in a minute's rage. 

But that's a mark whereof thy rites do boast. 

To make consumption everywhere thou go'st. 

Had I foreknown of this, thy least desire 
To have held a triumph, or a feast of fire, 
Especially in paper ; that that steam 
Had tickled thy large nostrils ; many a ream, 
To redeem mine, I had sent in: Enou2fh! 
Thou shouldst have cried, and all been proper stuff. 
The Talmud and the Alcoran had come, 
With pieces of the Legend;* the whole sum 
Of errant knighthood, with the dames and dwarfs ; 
The charmed boats, and the enchanted wharfs. 
The Tristrams, Lancelots, Turpins, and the Peers, 
All the mad Rolands, and sweet Olivers ; 
To Merlin's mirvels, and his Cabal's loss. 
With the chimera of the Rosy-cross, 
Their seals, their characters, hermetic rings. 
Their gem of riches, and bright stone that brings 
Invisibility, and strength, and tongues ; 
The art of kindling the true coal by Lungs ;t 



* The Lives of the Saints. — Gr. 
t Tlie name <xiyen to the uiider-operatoi's in tlie chemists' laboratories, 
whose bimiiiess it was to blow the fire. It occurs several limes iu Jousoii's 
plays. Here is an exniiiple: — 

"Hislun^s, his zephyrus, he that puffs hia coals." 

Alchemist, ii. I* 



UNDERWOODS. 395 

With Nicholas' Pasquils, Meddle* with your match, 
And the strong lines that do the time so catch ; 
Or Captain Pamphlet's horse and foot, that sally 
Upon the Exchange still, out of Pope's-head alley ;t 
The weekly courauts. with Paul's seal ; and all 
The admired discourses of the prophet Ball.J 

These, hadst thou pleased either to dine or sup 
Had made a meal for Vulcan to lick up ; 
But, in my desk, what was there to excite 
So ravenous and vast an appetite? 
I dare not say a body, but some parts 
There were of search, and mastery in the arts; 
All the old Yenusine, in poetry, 
And lighted by the Stagyrite, could spy. 
Was there made English ; with a grammar too. 
To teach some that their nurses could not do. 
The purity of language ; and, among 
The rest, my journey into Scotland sung. 
With all the adventures : three books, not afraid 
To speak the fate of the Sicilian maid, 
To their own ladies ; and in story there 
Of our fifth Henry, eight of his nine year ; 
Wherein was oil, beside the succors spent, 
Which noble Carew, Cotton, Selden lent; 
And twice twelve years stored up humanity. 
With humble gleanings in divinity. 
After the fathers, and those wiser guides, 
Whom faction had not drawn to study sides. 
How in these ruins, Yulcan, dost thou lurk, 
All soot and embers! Odious as thy work! 
I now begin to doubt if ever Grace, 
Or goddess, could be patient of thy face. 
Thou woo Minerva ! Or to wit aspire ! 
'Cause thou canst halt with us in arts and fire! 

* Giffbrd thinks this alludes to Nicholas Breton, who wrote severel pieces 
under the name of Pasqiiil. 

t A footwav leading from Lombard Street to Cornhill. The fionre is in- 
tended to repiesent the rout of newsvenders who passed out by that avenue 
to the Exchange. 

I Tlu' piophet Baal to be sent over to them, 
To calculate a time. Scv.— Staple of Xews. iii. 2. 
The title is applied to any fanatical leader, like John Ball, a Kentish minis- 
ter, who was concerned in the rebellion of Wat Tyler. 



396 BEN JONSON. 

Son of the Wind! For s) tliy mother, g-one 
With hist, conceived thee ; father thou hadst none. 
When thou wert born, and that thou look'dst at best 
She durst not kiss, but flung thee from her breast; 
And so did Jove, who ne'er meant thee his cup; 
No marvel the clowns of Lemnos took thee up ! 
For none but smiths would have made thee a god. 
Some alchemist there may be yet, or odd 
'Squire of the squibs, agiiinst the pageant-day. 
May to thy name a Yulcanale say ; 
And for it lose his eyes with gunpowder, 
As til' other may his brains with quicksilver. 

Well fare the wise men yet, on the Bankside, 
My friends, the watermen ! they could provide 
Against thy fury, when, to serve their needs, 
Tiiey made a Vulcan of a sheaf of reeds, 
Whom they durst handle in their holiday coats, 
And safely trust to dress, not burn their boats, 
But, oh those reeds! thy mere disdain of them, 
Made thee beget that cruel stratagem. 
Which some are pleased to style but thy mad prank, 
Against the Globe, the glory of the Bank; 
Which, though it were the fort of the whole parish. 
Flanked with a ditch, and forced out of a marish. 
I saw with two poor chambers taken in, [been ! 

And razed ; ere thought could urge this might have 
See the World's ruin ! Nothing but the piles 
Left, and wit since to cover it with tiles. 
The brethren they straight nosed it out for news, 
'Twas verily some relic of the stews; 
And this a sparkle of that fire let loose. 
That was raked up in the AVinchestrian goose 
Bred on the Bank in time of Popeiw, 
When Venus there maintained the mystery. 
But others fell, with that conceit, by the ears, 
And cried it Avas a threatening to the bears, 
And that accursed ground, the Paris Garden :* 
Nay, sighed a sister, Venus' nun, Kate Arden, 

* Paris-garden was used for bear-baiting as early as the reign of Henry 
VIII. 



UNDERWOODS. 397 

■Kiiulled the fire! But tliei], did one return, 
No fool would Lis own harfest spoil or burn! 
If that were so, thou rather wouldst advance 
The place that was thy wife's inheritance. 
Oh no, cried all, Fortune, for being a whore, 
'Scaped not his justice any jot the more: 
He burned that idol of the Revels too.* 
Nay, let Whitehall with revels have to do, 
Though but in dances, it shall know his power 5 
There was a judgment shown too in an hour.t 
He is right Vulcan still! He did not spare 
Troy, though it were so much his Venus' care. 
F( ol, wilt thou let that in example come? 
Did not she save from thence to build a Rome? 
And what hast thou done in these petty spites. 
More than advanced the houses and their rites'? 
I will not argue thee, from those of guilt, 
For they were burned but to be better built: 
'Tis true, that in thy wish they were destroyed, 
Which thcu hast only vented, not enjoyed. 
So wouldst thou've run upon the rolls by stealth, 
And didst invade part of the commonwealth, 
In those records, which, were all chronicles gone. 
Would be remembered by Six Clerks to one. 
But say all six, good men, what answer ye? 
Lies there no writ out of the Chancery 
Against this Vulcan? — no injunction. 
No order, no decree? — though we be gone 
At common law. Methinks in his despite, 
A court of ecjuity should do us right. 
But to confine him to the brew-houses. 
The glass-houses, the dye- vats, and their furnaces ; 
To live in sea-coal, and go forth in smoke ; 
Or, lest that vapor might the city choke, 
Condemn him to some brick-kilns, or some hill- 
Foot (out of Sussex) to an iron-mill ; 

* The "Fortune Tlientor. in Goldinu Lane. Whitecioss Street, was erected 
in 15!tn. by Edward Allt-\ ii .iiiii lii.s wilV'.s ste]>f'jitlier. Pliilii) Heiislowe ; and 
was desTT-oycd by fire on Sunday iiiubt. Hrli December. 1621. 

t Alliidini: to tiie destruction bv tire, of the old Banqueting house at 
Whiteliall on the \'Zt\\ January, 1618-19. 



398 BEN JONSOK. 

Or in small fagots have him blaze about 
Vile taverns, and the drunkards piss him out i 
Or in the bellman's lantern, like a spy. 
Burn to a snuff, and then stink out, and die: 
I could invent a sentence, yet were worse ; 
But I'll conclude all in a civil curse : 
Pox on your flameshij), Vulcan ! if it be 
To all as fatal as 't hath been to me, 
And to Paul's steeple; which was unto us 
'Bjve all your fireworks had at Ephesus, 
Or Alexandria ;* and, though a divine 
Loss, remains yet as unrepaired as mine. 

Would you had kept your forge at iEtna, still ! 
And there made swords, bills, glaives, and arms your fill! 
Maintained the trade at Bilboa, or elsewhere. 
Struck in at Milan with the cutlers there ; 
Or stayed but where the friar and you first met, 
Who from the devil's arse did guns beget; 
Or fixed in the Low Countries, where you might 
On both sides do your mischief with delight: 
Blow up and ruin, mine and countermine. 
Make your petards and grenades, all your fine 
Engines of murder, and enjoy the praise 
Of massacring mankind so many ways! 
We ask your absence here, we all love peace, 
And pray the fruits thereof and the increase; 
So doth the king, and most of the king's men 
That have good places : therefore once again, 
Pox on thee, Vulcan ! th}^ Pandora's pox. 
And all the ills that flew out of her box, 
Light on thee ! Or, if those plagues will not do, 
Thy wite's pox on thee, and Bess Brough ton's too! 



A SPEECH, ACCORDING TO HORACfE. 

Why yet, my noble hearts, they can not say. 
But we have power still for the king's day. 
An ordnance too ; so much as from the Tower, 
T have waked, if slee ping, Spain's ambassador, 

' The "buruing of the Temple of Diana, and the Alexandrian Library. 



UNDERWOODS. 809 

Old iEsop Gondemar : the French can tell, 

For they did see it the last tilting well, 

That we trumpets, armor, and great horse. 

Lances and men, and some a breaking force. 

They saw, too, store of feathers, and more may, 

It' they stay here but till St. George's day. 

All ensigns of a war are not yet dead, 

Kor marks of wealth so from a nation fled. 

But they may see gold chains and pearl worn then, 

Lent by the London dames to the Lord's men: 

"Withal, the dirty pains those citizens take. 

To see the pride at court their wives do make ; 

And the return those thaidiful courtiers yield. 

To have their husbands drawn forth to the field. 

And coming home to tell what acts were done 

Under the auspice of young Swinnerton.* 

What a strcng fort old Pimiico had been! 

How it held out! — how, last, 'twas taken in! — 

Well, I say, thrive, thrive, brave Artiilery-j^ard, 

Thou seed-plot of the war! Thou hast not spared 

PoAvder or paper to bring up the youth 

Of London, in the military truth. 

These ten years day; as all may swear that look 

But on th}^ 2^i"^ctice, and the posture book. 

He that but saw thy curious captain's drill, 
AYouid think no more of Flushing or the Brill, 
But give them over to the common ear, 
For that unnecessray charge they were. 
Well did thy crafty clerk and knight. Sir Hugh, 
SujDplant bold Panton, and brought there to view 
Translated Elian's tactics to be read. 
And the Greek discipline, with the modern, shed 
So in the ground, as soon it grew to be 
The city question, whether Tilly or he 
Where now the greater captain? — for they saw 
The Berghen siege, and taken in Bredau, 
So acted to the life, as Maurice might. 
And Spinola have blushed at the sight. 

* Proljably the son of Sir Jobu Swiuiierton, mayor of Londou in 1612.— G-, 



400 BEN JONQON. 

Oh liappy art ! and wise epitome 
Of bearing arms I most civil soldiery ! 
Thou canst draw forth thy forces, and fight dry 
The battles of thy alderminity. 
Without th3 hazard of a drop'^of blood, 
More than surfeits in thee that day stood. 
Go on, increased in virtue and in fame, 
And keep the glory of the English name 
Up among nations. In the stead of bold 
Beauchamps, and Xevills, Clifibrds, Audleys, old. 
Insert thy Hodges, and those newer men, 
As Stiles, Dike, Ditchfield, Millar, Crips, and Fen: 
That keep the war, though now't be grown more tame, 
Alive yet in the noise, and still the sam3; 
And could, if our great men would let their sons 
Come to their schools, show them the use of guns; 
And there instruct the noble English heirs 
In politic and military affairs. 
But he that should persuade to have this done 
For education of our lordlings, soon 
Should he [not] hear of billow, wind, and storm 
From the tempestuous grandlings, who'll inform 
Us, in our bearing, that are thus and thus, 
Born, bred, allied? What's he dare tutor us? 
Are we by bookworms to be awed? Must we 
Live by their scale, that dare do nothing free? 
Why are we rich or great, except to show 
All Iic3nc9 in our lives? What need we know 
More than ta praise a dog, or horse?— or speak 
The hawking language?— or our dav to break 
With citizens? Let clowns and tradesmen breed 
Their sons to study arts, the laws, the creed: 
We will believe like men of our own rank. 
In so much land a year, or such a bank, 
That turns us so much moneys, at which rate 
Our ancestors imposed on prince and state. 
Let poor nobility be virtuous : we, 
Des:^ended in a rope of titles be 
From Gu}^ or Bevis, Arthur, or from whom 
The herald will ; our blood is now become 



UNDERWOODS. 401 

Past any need of virtue. Let tliem care, 

That in the cradle of their gentry are, 

To serve the state by counsels and by arms: 

We neither love the troubles nor the harms. 

"What love you, then? — your whore: what study? — gait, 

Carriage, and dressing. There is up of late 

The Academy, where the gallants meet — 

AYhat? To make legs? Yes, and to smell most sweet: 

All that they do at plays. Oh, but first here 

They learn and study; and then practice there. 

But why are all these irons in the fire 

Of several njakiugs? Helps, helps, to attire 

His lordship : that is for his band, his hair 

This; and that box his beauty to repair; 

This other for his eyebrows; hence, away! 

I may no longer en these pictures stay, 

These carcases of honor; tailors' blocks 

Covered with tissue, whose prosperity mocks 

The fate of things; whilst tattered virtue holds 

Her broken arms up to their empty molds! 



AN EPISTLE TO MASTER ARTHUR SQUIB. 

What I am not, and what I fain would be, 

Whilst I inform myself. I would teach thee, 

My gentle Arthur, that it might be said 

One lesson we have both learned, and well read. 

I neither am, nor art thou, one of those 

That barkens to a jack's pulse, when it goes ; 

Nor ever trusted to that friendship yet, 

Was issue of the tavern or the spit ; 

Much less a name would v\'e bring up, or nurse, 

That could but claim a kindred from the purse. 

Those are poor ties depend on those false ends, 

'Tis \irtue alone, or nothing, that knits friends. 

And as v.'ithin your office you do take 

No piece of money, but you know, or make 

Inquiry of the worth : so must we do, 

First weigh a friend, then touch, and try him too ; 



40^ BEK J0N80N. 

For there are many slips and counterfeits ; 
Deceit is fruitful; men have masks and nets; 
But these with ^Yearing will tiiemselvts unfold; 
They can not last. No lie grew ever old. 
Turn him, and see his threads : look if he be 
Friend to himself that would be friend to thee: 
For that is first required, a man be his own : 
But he that's too much that, is friend of none. 
Then rest, and a friend's value understand; 
It is a richer purchase than of land. 



AN EPIGRAM ON SIR EDWARD COKE, 

WHEN IiE WAS LORD CHIEF JUSTICE OF EXC.LAXD. 

He that should search all glories of the gown, 

And stej^^ ^^ ^^ raised servants of the crowm, 

He could not find th;in thee, of all that store, 

Whom fortune aided less, or virtue more. 

Such, Coke, were thy beginnings, when thy good 

In others' evil best was understood; 

When, being the stranger's help, the poor man's aid, 

Thy just defenses made th' oppressor afraid. 

Such was thy process, when integrity, 

And skill in thee now grew authority, 

That clients strove, in question of the laws, 

More for thy patronage than for their cause ; 

And that thy strong and manly eloquence 

Stood up thy nation's fame, her crown's defense; 

And now such is thy stand, w4iile thou dost deal 

Desired justice to the public weal, 

Like Solon's self, expkit'st* the knotty laws 

With endless labors, whilst thy learning draws 

No less of praise, than readers, in all kinds 

Of worthi;:st knowledge, that can take men's minds. 

Such is thy ail, that, as I sung before, 

None fortune aided less, or virtue more. 

Or if chance must to each man that doth rise 

Needs lend an aid, to thine she had her eyes. 

* Expiate — to explain or uufold. 



UNDER WOODS. 403 



AN EPISTLE, 

ANSWERING TO ONE THAT ASKED TO BE SEALED (aF THE 



TRIBE OF BEN 



* 



Men that are safe and sure in all they do, 

Care not what trials they are ^Dut unto ; 

They meet the fire, the test, as martyrs would, 

And though opinion stamp them not, are gold. 

I could say more of such, but that I fly 

To speak myself out too ambitiously. 

And showing- so weak an act to vulgar eyes. 

Put conscience and my right to compromise. 

Let those that merely talk, and never think, 

That live in the wild anarchy of drink. 

Subject to quarrel only ; or else such 

As make it their proficienc}^ how much 

They've glutted in, and lechered out that week, 

That never yet did friend or friendship seek, 

But for a sealing; let these men protest. 

Or th' other on their borders, that will jest 

On all souls that are absent, — even the dead. 

Like flies, or w^orms, which man's corrupt parts fed; 

That to speak well, think it above all sin, 

Of any company but that they are in; 

Called every night to supper in these fits 

And are received for the covey of w' its ; 

That censure all the tow'n, and all the affairs, 

And know whose ignorance is more than theirs : 

Let these men have their ways, and take their times 

To vent their libels, and to issue rhymes; 

I have no portion in them, nor their deal 

Of news they get, to strew out the long meal; 

I study other friendships, and more one, 

Than these can ever be ; or else wish none. 

* Jonsou had many "adopted sous.' — yoiuisi' ujeu in whose success he felt 
an iiiterest. and wliose talents he enconiaued. The followinu list is, -[n-ob- 
ably, complete : Bishop Moilev. Lord Falkland, liicliaid Brome. William 
Cait wiiilit. liobeit Ilerrick. Joseidi lintter, Thomas Ilandolidi, Sir Henry 
^Morrison. Shakerley ^Nrannion. James Howell, Sir Kenelm liiuby, and Sir 
Joiiii Sucklini;-. 'J'hese pei-sons coiistitnted tiiat band of yoiitiifiil associates 
which Jonson here ))leasantly <lesii.'nates "the tribe of Ben." The epistle 
is addressed to some new candidate for liliation. 



404 ^^^ JONSON. 

What is't to me whether tlie French design 
Be, or be not, to get the ValteHiie? 
Or the States' ships sent forth belike to meet 
Some hopes of Spain in their West-Indian fleet? 
Whether the dispensation yet be sent, 
Or that the match from Spain was ever meant? 
I wish all well, and pray high heaven conspire 
My prince's safety, and my king s desire. 
But if for honor we must draw the sword. 
And force back that, which will not be restored, 
I have a body yet that spirit draws. 
To live, or fall a carcass, in the cause. 
So far without inquiry what the States, 
Brunsfield, and Mansfield, do this year, my fates 
Shall carry me at call ; and I'll be well. 
Though I do neither hear these news, nor tell 
Of Spain or France ; or were not pricked down one 
Of the late mystery of reception; 
Although my fame to his not under-hears, 
That guides the motions, and directs the bears. 
But that's a blow, by which in time I may 
Lose all my credit with my Christmas clay, 
And animated porcelain of the court; 
Ay, and for this neglect, the coarser sort 
Of earthen jars there, ma}" molest me too: 
Well, with mine own frail pitcher, wdiat to do 
I have decreed; keep it from V\"aves and press, 
Lest it be justled, cracked, made nought, or less 
Live to tliat point I will, for which I am man, 
And dwell as in my center, as I can, 
Still looking to, and ever loving heaven; 
With reverence using all the f^ifts thence given: 
'Mongst which, if I have any friendships sent. 
Such as are square, well-tagged, and permanent, 
Not built with canvas, paper, and false lights. 
As are the glorious scenes ai the great sights; 
And that there be no fevery heats nor colds, 
Oily expansions, or shrunk dirty folds. 
But all so clear, and lead by reason's flame, 
As but to stumble in her sight were shame; 



UNDERWOODS. 405 

These I will honor, love, embrace, and serve, 

And free it from all question to preserve. 

So short yon read my character, and theirs 

I would call mine, to which not many stairs 

Are asked to climb. First give me faith, who know 

Myself a little. I will take you so. 

As 3"ou have writ yourself. Now stand, and then, 

Sir, you are sealed of the Tribe of Ben. 



THE DEDICATION 

^g's new CEIXAK* Ti 
Accessit fervor capiti, numeriisquc Inccrnis. 

Since, Bacchus, thou art father 
Of wines, to thee the rather 
We dedicate this Cellar, 
AVhere now thou art made dweller, 
And seal thee thy commission: 
But 'tis with a condition, 
That thou remain here taster 
Of all to the great master; 
And look unto their faces, 
Their qualities and races, 
That both their odor take him, 
And relish merry make him. 

For, Bacchus, thou art freer 
Of cares, and overseer 
Of feast and merry meeting. 
And still begin'st the greeting : 
See then thou dost attend him, 
L3'peus, and defend him, 
By all the arts of gladness. 
From any thought like sadness. 
So mayst thou still be younger 
Than Phoebus and much stronger, 
To give mankind their cases, 
And cure the world's diseases! 

So may the Muses follow 
Thee still, and leave Apollo, 



* Built l)v luigo Jones. 



406 BEN JONSON. ' 

And think thy stream more quicker 
Than Hippocrene's liquor; 
And thou make many a poet, 
Before his brain do know it! 
So may there never quarrel 
Have issue from the barrel, 
But Venus and the Graces 
Pursue thee in all places, 
And not a song be other 
Than Cupid and his mother! 

That when King James above here 
Shall feast it, thou mayst love there 
The causes and the guests too. 
And have thy tales and jests too, 
Thy circuits and thy rounds free. 
As shall the feast's fair grounds be. 
Be it he holds communion 
In great Saint George's union; 
Or gratulates the passage 
Of some well- wrought embassage, 
Whereby he may knit sure up 
The wished peace of Europe ; 
Or else a health advances. 
To put his court in dances, 
And set us all on skipping. 
When with his royal shipping 
The narrow seas are shady, 
And Charles brings home the lady. 



AN EPIGRAM ON THE COURT PUCELLE.* 
Does the Court Pucelle then so censure me, 
And thinks I dare not her? Let the world see. 
What though her chamber be the very pit, 
Wliere fight the prime cocks of the game, for wit; 
And that as any are struck, her breath creates 
Ndw in their stead, out of the candidates ; 

* The subject of this Epifrram was one Mistress EouLstred. uj)on whom 
Donne wiote two elegies, "joiison tohl Diiimnioixl that this "iiiece of the 
Pucelle of the Court was stolen outi of liis pocket by a trentleinan who drank 
him dntwsy, and given to Mistress Boulstred, which brought him great 
dis|)leasure," 



tJNjDEitWOODS. 407 

Wliat though with tribade lust she force a muse, 
A.iid in an epicene fury can write news 
Equol with that which for the best news goes, 
As airy, Ught, and as Hke wit as those ; 
"What though she talk, and can at once with them 
Make state, religion, bawdry, all a theme ; 
And as lip-thirsty, in each word's expense. 
Doth labor with the phrase more than the sense ; 
What though she ride two mile on holydays 
To church, as others do to feasts and plays, 
To show their tires, to view, and to be viewed ; 
What though she be with velvet gowns endued. 
And spangled petticoats brought forth to th' eye, 
As new rewards of her old secrecy; 
What though she hath won on trust, as many do, 
And that her truster fears her: must I too"? 
I never stood for any place ; my wit 
Tiiinks itself nought, though she should value it. 
I am no statesman, and much less divine ; 
For bawdry, 'tis her language, and not mine. 
Farthest I am from the idolatry 
To stuffs and laces ; those my man can buy. 
And trust her I would least, that hath forswore 
In contract twice; w^hat can she perjure more? 
Indeed her dressing some man might delight. 
Her face there's none can like by candle-light; 
Not he, that should the body have, for case 
To his poor instrument, now out of grace. 

Shall I advise thee, Pucelle? Steal away 
From court, wdiile yet thy fame hath some small day: 
The wits will leave you if they once perceive 
You cling to lords; and lords, if them you leave 
For sermoneers, of w^hich now one, now^ other. 
They say you weekly invite with fits o' th' mother, 
And practice for a miracle ; take heed, 
This age w^ould lend no faith to Parrel's deed; 
Or if it would, the court is the worst place, 
Both for the mothers and the babes of grace; 
For there the wicked in the chair of scorn. 
Will call 't a bastard, when a prophet's born. 



408 BEN JONSON. 

AN EPIGRAM TO THE HONORED COUNTESS OF ' 

The wisdom, madam, of your private life, 

Wiierewitli this while you live a widowed wife, 

And the right ways you take unto the right, 

To conquer rumor, and triumph on spite; 

Not only shunning by your act to do 

Aught that is ill, bat the suspicion too, 

Is of so brave example, as he w^ere 

No friend to virtne, could be silent here; 

The rather when the vices of the time 

Are grown so fruitful, and false pleasures climb, 

By all oblique degrees, that killing lieight 

Erom whence they fall, cast down with their own w^eigLt. 

And though all praise bring nothing to your name. 

Who, herein studying conscience, and not fame. 

Are in yourself rewarded; yet 'twill be 

A cheerful work to ail good eyes, to see 

Among the daily ruins that fall foul 

Of state, of fame, of body, and of soul. 

So great a virtue stand upright to view, 

As makes Penelope's old fable true. 

Whilst your Ulysses hath ta'en leave to go, 

Countriss and climes, manners and men to know. 

Only your time you better entertain, 

Than the great Homer's wit for her could feign ; 

For you admit no company but good, 

And when you want those friends, or near in blood. 

Or your allies, you make your books your friends. 

And study them unto the noblest ends. 

Searching for knowledge, and to keep your mind 

The same it was inspired, rich and refined. 

These graces, when the rest of ladies view, 
Not boasted in your life, but practiced true. 
As they are hard for them to make their own. 
So are they profitable to be known: 
For wdien they find so many meet in one. 
It will be shame for them, if they have none. 

* The character drawn in this epigiani, and the allnsioii to tlie absence 
of the lady's husband on liis navels, sii^jiest the probability that the piece 
vrus addressed to the Couuteaa of iiuUaud, 



LORD BACON'S BIRTHDAY. 

HluI, liappy Geuiiis of this rviicienfc pile! 
How comes it all things so about tlieo smile? 
The fire, the wine, the men! And in the midst 
Thou stand'st as if some mystery thou didst! 
Pardon, I read it in thy face, the day 
Fcr whose returns, and many, all these pray ; 
And so do I. This is the sixtieth year 
Since Bacon, and thy lord was born, and here 
Son to the grave wise Keejoer of the Seal, 
Fame and foundation of the English weal. 
What then his father was, that since is he. 
Now with a title more to the degree ; 
England's High Chancelor: the destined heir 
In his soft cradle to his father's chair; 
Whose even thread the Fates spin round and full, 
Out of their choicest and their whitest wool. 

'Tis a brave cause of joy, let it be known. 
For 'twere a narrow gladness, hept thine own. 
Give me a deep-crowned bowl, tliat I may sing, 
In raising him, the wisdom of my king. 

THE POET TO THE PAINTER. 

AN ANSWEE.* 

Wh}', though I seem of a prodigious "waist, 

I am not so voluminous and vast, 

But there are lines, wherewith I might be embraced. 

* This ans-vrer is nn acknowledtrniejit of the f(>lh)wiin:- niiintelliirible piece 
of doggrel, here inserted, -^vith its title, as it is printed in the folio: — 

A rOEM SENT ME BY SIR WILLIAJI BURLASE. 

THE TAIXTER TO THE POET. 

To paint thy worth, if riirhlly I did kiiovr it, 
And were lint painter hiilt' like thee, a }>oet ; 

3>eii. I would show it: 
Tiwi in this skill, my nnskillful ]>en will tire. 
Thou, and thy worth, will still i)e found far higher; 

And I a liar. 
Then, what a painters here ! Or what an eater 
Of great attempts ! When as his skill's no greater 

And he a elieater ! 
Then, what a poet's heie ! Whom, hy confession 
Of all with me, to i):iiiit without digression 

There's no expression. 



410 BEN JON SON. 

'Tis true, as my womb swells, so my back ^stoops. 
And the whole lump grows round, deformed, and 
But yet the Tun at Heidelberg had hoops. [droops ; 

You were not tied by any painter's law 
To square my circle, I confess, but draw 
My superficies : that was all you saw ; 

Which if in compass of no art it came 

To be described by a monogram. 

With one great blot you had formed me as I am. 

But whilst you curious were to have it be 
An archetype, for all the world to see, 
You made it a brave piece, but not like me. 

Oh, had I now your manner, mastery, might. 
Your power of handling, shadow, air, and spright, 
How I would draw, and take hold and delight ! 

But you are he can paint; I can but write: 
A poet hath no more but black and white, 
Ne knows he flattering colors, nor false light. 

Yet when of friendship I would draw the face, 
A lettered mind, and a large heart would place 
To all posterity; I will write Burlase. 



EPIGRAM TO WILLIAM, EARL OF NEWCASTLE. 

When first, my lord, I saw you back your horse, 
Provoke his mettle, and command his force 
To all the uses of the field and race, 
Mathought I read the ancient art of Thrace, 
And saw a centaur, past those tales of Greece, 
So seemed your horse and you both of a piece! 
You showed like Perseus ujoon Pegasus, 
Or Castor mounted on his Cyllarus ; 
Or what we hear our home-born legend tell, 
Of bold Sir Bcvis and his Arundel: 
Nay, so your seat his l)eauties did endorse, 
As I began to wish myself a horse : 



UNDERWOODS. 411 

And surely, had I but your stable seen 
Before, I think my wish absolved had been ; 
For never saw I yet the Muses dwell. 
Nor any of their household, half so well. 
So well! As when I saw the floor and room 
I looked for Hercules to be the groom ; 
And cried, Away with the Caesarian bread! 
At these immortal mangers Virgil fed. 

— -♦- 

EPISTLE TO MR. ARTHUR SQUIB. 

I am to dine, friend, where I must be weighed 

For a just wager, and that wager paid 

If I do lose it ; and, without a tale, • 

A merchant's wife is regent of the scale ; 

AVho, when she heard the match, concluded straight, 

An ill commodit}^! It must make good w^eight. 

So that, upon the point, my corporal fear 

Is, she will play dame Justice too severe. 

And hold me to it close; to stand ujDright 

Within the balance, and not want a mite ; 

But rather with advantage to be found 

Full twenty stone, of which I lack two jDound; 

That's six in silver ; now w'ithin the socket 

Stinketh my credit, if into the pocket 

It do not come: one piece I have in store, 

Lend me, dear Arthur, for a week, five more, 

And you shall make me good, in weight and fashion, 

And then to be returned: or protestation 

To go out after: till when take this letter 

For your security. I can no better. 

TO MR. JOHN BURGES. 
Would God, my Burges, I could think 
Thoughts worthy of thy gift, this ink; 
Then would I promise here to give 
Verse that should thee and me outlive. 
But since the wdne hath steeped my brain, 
I only can the paper stain ; 
Yet with a dye that fears no moth, 
But, scarlet-like, outlasts the cloth. 



412 BEN J0N80N. 

EPISTLE TO MY LADY COVELL. 

You won not verses, madam, you won me. 

When you would play so nobly, and so free, 

A book to a few lines! But it was fit 

You won them too ; your odds did merit it. 

So have you gained a servant and a muse: 

The first of wliicli I fear you will refuse ; 

And you may justly, being a tardy, cold. 

Unprofitable chattel, fat and old, 

Laden with hoilj, and doth hardly aiDproach 

His friends, but to break chairs, or crack a coaclx 

His weight is twenty stone within two pound ; 

And that's made up as doth the purse abound. 

Marry, the muse is one can tread the air. 

And stroke the water, nimble, chaste, and fair ; 

Sleep in a virgin's bosom without fear. 

Run all the rounds in a soft lady's ear, 

Widow or wife, without the jealousy 

Of either suitor, or a servant by. 

Such, if her manners like you, I do send ; 

And can for other graces her commend, 

To make you merry on the dressing-stool 

A-mornings, and at afternoons to fool 

Away ill company, and help in rhyme 

Your Joan to pass her melancholy time. 

By this, although you fancy not the man, 

Accept his muse ; and tell, I know you can, 

How many verses, madam, are your due! 

I can lose none in tendering these to you. 

I gain in having leave to keep my day. 

And should grow rich, had I much more to pay. 



TO MASTER JOHN BURGES. 

Father John Burges, 

Necessity urges 

My woful cr}^ 

To Sir Robert Pye ; 

And that he will venture 

To send my debenture. 



UNDERWOODS. " 413 

Tell him Lis Ben 

Knew the time, wlien 

He loved the Muses; 

Thouo'h now he refuses 

To take apprehension 

Of a 3'ear's pension, 

And more is behind; 

Put him in mind 

Christmas is near: 

And neither good cheer, 

Mirth, fooling, nor wit, 

Nor any least lit 

Of gambol or sport, 

Will come at the court; 

If there be no money, 

No plover, or coney 

Will come to the table, 

Or wine to enable 

The muse, or the poet, 

The parish will know it: 
Nor any quick warming-pan help him to bed, 
If the 'Chequer be empty, so will be his head. 

4». 

EPIGRAM TO MY BOOKSELLER. 
Thou, friend, wilt here all censui-es ; unto thee 
All mouths are oj^en, and all stomachs free ; 
Be thou my books intelligencer, note 
What each man says of it, and of what coat 
His judgment is; if he be wise, and praise, 
Thank him : if other, he can give no bays. 
If his wit reach no higher, but to spring 
Thy wife a fit of laughter, a cramp ring* 
Will be reward enough : to wear like those 
That hang their richest jewels in their nose, 
Like a ruug bear, or swine: grunting out wit 

As if that part lay for a 1 m-st lit! 

If they go on, and that thou lov'st a-life 

Their perfumed judgments, let them kiss thy wife. 

* It was .111 aiicieiit us:!i:e of the kiiiirs (if Eiijiland to ba]lo\T lintrs on Gocd 
Fi-iday ; •• uiiic-li liuirs.'" says I3oorde, " wotii on ones linger dotli lioiii 
them which hath the cramp." t This blank occurs in the folio. 



414 ■ BEJS- JOKSOK. 

AN EPIGRAM TO WILLIAM, EARL OF NEWCASTLE 

Tbey talk of fencing, and the use of arms, 

The art of urging and avoiding harms, 

The noble science, and the mastering skill 

Of making just approaches how to kill; 

To hit in angles, and to clash with time : 

As all defense or offense were a chime! 

I hate such measured, give me mettled, fire 

That trembles in the blaze, but then mounts higher! 

A quick and dazzling motion ! When a pair 

Of bodies meet like rarefied air! 

Their weapons shot out with that flame and force, 

As they outdid the lightning in the course; 

This were a spectacle! — a sight to draw 

Wonder to valor! No, it is the law 

Of daring not to do a wrong; 'tis true 

Valor to slight it, being done to you; 

To know the heads of danger, v/here 'tis fit 

To bend, to break, provoke, or suffer it. 

All this, my lord, is valor! This is yours, 

And was your father's, all your ancestors' ! 

Who durst live great 'mongst all the colds and heats 

Of human life ; as all the frosts and sweats 

Of fortune, when or death appeared, or bands ; 

And valiant were, with or without their hands. 



AN EPITAPH ON HENRY, LORD LA-WARE/ 

TO THE PASSER BY. 

If, passenger, thou canst but read, 

Stay, drop a tear for him that's dead: 

Henry, the brave young Lord La-ware, 

Minerva's and the Muses' care! 

What could their care do 'gainst the spite 

Of a disease that loved no light 

Of honor, nor no air of good; 

But crept like darkness through his blood. 



* Fourth Lord Delaware. His father was appointed, in 1609, Governor 
and Captain-General of the colony of Virginia, where he died in 1618. 



UNDERWOODS. 415 

Offended with the dazzling flame 
Of virtue. ,i^ot above his name"? 
No noble furniture of parts, 
No love of action and high arts; 
No aim at glory, or in war, 
Ambition to become a star, 
Could stop the malice of this ill, 
That spread his body o'er to kill : 
And only his great soul envied, 
Because it durst have noblier died. 
♦-^ 

AN EPIGRAM. 
That you have seen the pride, beheld the sport, 
And all the games of fortune played at court; 
Viewed there the market, read the wretched rate 
At which there are would sell the prince and state j 
That scarce you hear a public voice alive. 
But whispered counsels, and those onh" thrive: 
Yet are got off thence, with clear nnnd and hands 
To lift to heaven: who is't not understands 
Your happiness, and doth not speak ycai blessed, 
To see you set apart thus from the rest. 
To obtain of God what all the land should ask? 
A nation's sin got pardoned! 'Twere a task 
Fit for a bishop's knees! Oh, bow them oft. 
My lord, till felt grief make our stone hearts softj 
And we do weep to water for our sin. 
He, that in such a flood as we are in, 
Of riot and consumption, knows the way 
To teach the people how to fast and pray, 
And do their penance, to avert the rod, 
He is the man, and favorite, of God. 

-*■ 

AN EPIGRAM TO KING CHARLES, 

FOR A HLXUKED POUNDS HE SKNT SIE IX MY SICKXESS. 
16-29. 

Great Charles, among the hoh' gifts of grace 

Annexed to thy person and thy j^lace, 

'Tis not enough (thy piety is such) 

To cure the called King's Evil with thy touch j 



416 BEN JONSON. 

But thou wilt yet a kinglier mastery try, 
To cure the poet's evil, povert}": 
And ill these cures dost so thyself enlarge, 
As thou dost cure our evil at thy charge. 
Nay, and in this, thou show'st to value more 
Oiife poet, than of other folks ten score. 
Oh, piety ! so to weigh the poor's estates ! 
Oh, bounty ! so to difference the rates ! 
What can the poet wish his king may do, 
But that he cure the people's evil too? 



TO KING CHARLES AND QUEEN MARY, 

FOR THK LOSS OF TIIEIK FIKST-UOnN. AX El'IGHAM CONSOLATORY. 

lo29. 

AVno dares deny that all lirst fruits are due 

To God, denies the Godhead to be true: 

Who doubts those fruits God can with gain restore, 

Doth by his doubt distrust his j^romise more. 

He can, He will, and with large interest, pay 

What, at his liking, He will take away. 

Then, royal Charles and Mary, do not grutch 

That the Almighty's will to you is such: 

But thank His greatness an 1 His goodness too ; 

And thank all still the best that He will do. 

That thought shall make, He will this loss supply 

With a long, large, and blessed posterity! 

For God, whose essence is so infinite. 

Can not but heap that grace He will requite. 



EPIGRAM TO OUR GREAT AND GOOD KING CHARLES, 



ON HIS ANXIVKRSAUY DAY. 
1629. 



How happy were the subject if he knew. 

Most pioQS king, but his own good in you. 

How many times, Live long, Charles! would he say. 

If he but weighed the blessings of this day, 

And as it turns our joyful year about. 

For safety of such majesty cry out? 

Indeed, when had Great Britain o-reater cause 

Than now, to love the sovereign and the laws; 



UNDER WOODS. 417 

When yon that rei^^-n ai-e her example rrrown, 

And what are bounds to her, you make your own? 

When your assiduous practice doth secure 

That faith which she professeth to be pure"? 

When all your life's a precedent of days, 

And murmur can not quarrel at your ways? 

How is she barren grown of love, or broke, 

That nothing can her gratitude provoke ! 

Oh times ! oh manners ! surfeit bred of ease, 

The truly ejndemical disease! 

'Tis not alone the merchant, but the clow^n, 

Is bankrupt turned; the cassock, cloak, and gown, 

Are lost upon account, and none vrill know 

How much to heaven for thee, great Charles, they owe! 



AN EPIGRAM ON THE PRINCE'S BIRTH. 

1C30. 

And art thou born, brave babe? Blessed be thy birth. 

That so hath crowned our hopes, our spring, and earth. 

The bed of the chaste Lily and the Rose! 

What month than May was litter to disclose 

This prince of flowers? Soon shoot thou up, and grow 

The same that thou art promised; but be slow^, 

And long in changing. Let our nephews see 

Thee quickly come the garden's eye to be, 

And still to stand so. Haste now, envious moon, 

And interpose thyself, care not how^ soon, 

And threat the great eclipse ; two hours but run, 

Sol will reshine ; if not, Charles hath a son. 

Xon displiciiisse meretiir 

Festiuat Cae^ftll■ qui placiiisse tibi. 



AN EPIGRAM TO THE QUEEN, THEN LYING IN. 

1630. 

Hail, Mary, full of grace ! it once was said. 

And by an angel, to the bJessed'st maid. 

The Mother of our Lord: why may not I, 

Without profaneness, as a i:)oet, cry 

Hail, Mary, full of honors ! To my queen, 

The mother of our prince? When wag there seen. 



418 BEN JONSON. 

Except the joy that the first Mary brought, 

Whereby tbe safet}^ of mankind was wrought, 

So general a gladness to an isle, 

To make the hearts of a whole nation smile, 

As in this prince ? Let it be lawial so 

To compare small with great, as still we owe 

Glory to God. Then, Hail to Mary! spring 

Of so much safety to the realm and king!* 



AN ODE, OR SONG, BY ALL THE MUSES^ 

IN CELEIJKATION OF lIKll JIAJESTY'S BIllTHDAY. 
1G30. 

1 Clio. Up, public joy, remember 

This sixteenth of November, 
Some brave uncommon way; 

And though the parish steeple 

Be silent to the people. 
Ring thou it holy-day 

2 Mel. What though the thrifty Tower, 

And guns there spare to pour 
Their noises forth in thunder; 

As fearful to av^'ake 

This city, or to shake 

Their guarded gates asunder? 

3 Thai. Yet let our trumpets sound ; 

And cleave both air and ground, 

With beatings of our drums ; 
Let every lyre be strung, 
Harp, lute, theorbo sprung. 
With touch of dainty thumbs! 



* Although the character of this epigram Tnijjht lead the reader to a 
different conclusion, Joiisoii had been "■ reconciled to the church " many 
years before it was written. Uryden alone has I'eached to tlie liight of the 
impious Darallel wliich runs t.lirou2h it. when, in The Britannia liediviva, 
he treats the birth of a prince as a miracle brousht about by the direct 
agency of the aiijiels. and comjjares the union of three realms in one under 
his sway to the Trinity, who had stamped their image upon him, 



UNDER WOODS. 410 

4 JSiiL That when the choir is full, 

The harmony may pull 

The angels from their spheres; 

And each intelligence 

May wish itself a sense, 
Whilst it the ditty hears. 

5 Terp. Behold the royal Mary, 

The daughter of great Harry, 

And sister to just Lewis ! 
Comes in the pomp and glory 
Of all her brother's story, 

And of her father's prowess! 

6 £Jrat She shows so far above 

The feigned queen of love, 

This sea-girt isle upon ; 
As here no Venus were. 
But that she reigning here, 

Had got the ceston on ! 

7. Call. See, see our active king 

Hath taken twice the ring, 

Upon his pointed lance: 
Whilst all the ravished rout 
Do mingle in a shout. 

Hey ! for the flower of France I 



8 Ura. This day the court doth measure 

Her joy in state and pleasure; 

And with a reverend fear. 
The revels and the play, 
Sum up this crowned day. 

Her two-and-twentieth year! 

9 I^ohj. Sweet, happy Mary! All 

The people her do call. 

And this the womb divine! 
So fruitful, and so fair, 
Hath brought the land an heir. 
And Charles a Caroline. 



420 BEN JONSOm 

AN EPIGRAM TO THE HOUSEHOLD. 

1630. 

What can the cause be, when the king hath given 

His poet sack, the honsehokl will not pay"? 
Are they so scanted in their store? — or driven 

For want of knowing the poet, to say him nay? 
Well, they should know him, would the king but grttut 

His poet leave to sing his household true; 
He'd frame such ditties of their store and want, 

Would make the very Greencloth to look blue: 
And rather wish in their expense of sack, 

So the allowance from the king to use, 
As the old bard should no canary lack; 

'Twere better spare a butt, than spill his muse. 
For in the genius of a poet's verse, 
The king's fame lives. Go now, deny his tierce!* 



EPIGRAM TO A FRIEND AND SON. 

Son, and my friend, I had not called you so 
To me, or been the same to you, if show, 
Profit, or chance had made us: but I know 
What, by that name, we each to other owe. 
Freedom and truth ; with love from those begot : 
Wisecrafts, on which the flatterer ventures not. 
His is more safe commodity, or none : 
Nor dares he come in the comparison. 
But as the w^-etched painter, who so ill 
Painted a dog, that now his subtler skill 
Was, t' have a boy stand with a club, and fright 
All live dogs from the lane, and his shop's sight, 
Till he had sold his piece, drawn so unlike : 
So doth the flatterer with fair cunning strike 
At a friend's freedom, prove all circling means 
To keep him off; and howsoe'er he gleans 
Some of his forms, he lets him not come near 
Where he would fix, for the distinctions fear: 

"■ This epi irram is said to have given offense to the Board of Greencloth; 
and it is ;id(ied that Jonson did not <iet his tierce of wine, to wliich lie was 
entitled as part of tlie peiquisites of his oflice of laureate, till he had writ- 
ten another epigram iu a more subdued tone. 



UNDERWOODS. 421 

For as at distance few have faculty 
To judge, so all men coming near can spy; 
Though now of flattery, as of picture, are 
More subtle works, and finer pieces far, 
Than knew the former ages: yet to life 
All is but web and painting; be the strife 
Never so great to get them ; and the ends. 
Rather to boast rich hangino-s than rare friends. 



TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY AND FRIENDSHOP OF THAT 
NOBLE PAIR, 

SIR LUCIUS GARY AND SIR HENRY MORISON.* 



THE TURN. 

Brave infant of Saguntum, clear 
Thy coming forth in that great year, 
When the prodigious Hannibal did crown 
His rage, with razing your immortal town. 
Thou looking theli about. 
Ere thou wert half got out, 
"Wise child, didst hastily return. 
And mad'st thy mother's womb thine urn. 
How summed a circle didst thou leave mankind 
Of deepest lore, could we the center find I 

THE COUNTERTURN. 

Did wiser Nature draw thee back, 

From out the horror of that sack, 
Where shame, faith, honor, and regard of right. 
Lay trampled on*? The deeds of death and night, 

* vSir Lucius Gary, better known to modern readers as the grallant Lord 
Falkhuni wlio fell at the battle of Naseby, was married to Letice, a sister 
of Sir Henry Morison. An early attachment appears to liave <:rown ui) be- 
tween tliese younjr men, who were two of the poet's most cheiislied 
"ado))ted sons." Sir Henry did not live to witness the marria^ze of liis 
friend with his sister, and Falkland himself perished in the thirty-fourth 
year of liis ane. In some of the editions this poeiti is entitled ''A Pindaric 
Ode," of wliieli it is a pei-fect exam])le ; but as Jonson himself did not give 
it that title, it is not intioduced into the text. The reader need scarcely 
be reminded that the term.s '•turn," '" counterturn," and "stand," prefixeil 
to the stanzas, are merely the equivalents of the •' strophe," " antistrophe,'' 
and "epode." 



422 BEN JONSON: 

Urged, burned forth, and hurled 
Upon th' affrighted world ; 
Sword, fire, and famine, with fell fury met, 
And all on utmost ruin set ; 
As, could they but life's miseries foresee. 
No doubt all infants would return like thee. 

THE STAND. 

For what is life, if measured by the space 

Nor by the acf? 
Or masked man, if valued by his face, 
Above his fact? 
Here's one outlived his peers. 
And told forth fourscore years ; 
He vexed time, and busied the whole state; 
Troubled both foes and friends ; 
But ever to no ends : 
What did this stirrer but die late? 
How w^ell at twenty had he fallen or stood ! 
For three of his fourscore he did no good. 

II. 

THE TURN. 

He entered well, by virtuous parts. 
Got uj), and thrived with honest arts ; 
He purchased friends, and fame, and honors then, 
And had his noble name advanced with men: 
But \veary of that flight. 
He stooped in all men's sight 
To sordid flatteries, acts of strife, 
And sunk in that dead sea of life. 
So deep, as he did then death's waters sup, 
But that the cork of title buoyed him up. 

THE COUNTERTURN. 

Alas! but Morison fell young: 
He never fell, — thou fall'st, my tongue. 
He stood a soldier to the last right end, 
A perfect patriot, and a noble friend ; 
But most, a virtuous son. 
Ail offices vrers done 



UNDERWOODS. 423 

By liim, so ample, full, and round, 
In weight, in measure, luimber, sound, 
As, tliougii bis age imperfect miglit api^ear, 
His life was of humanity the sphere. 

THE STAND. 

Go now, and tell out days summed up with feius, 

And make them years; 
Produce thy mass of miseries on the stage, 
To swell thine age ; 

Repeat of things a throng, 

To show thou hast been long, 
Not lived : for life doth her great actions spell, 

By what w^as done and wrought 

In season, and so brought 
To light : her measures are, how well 
Each syllabe answered, and was formed, how fair ; 
These make the lines of life, and that's her air! 

III. 

THE TURN. 

It is not growing like a tree 

111 bulk, doth make men better be ; 
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 
To fall a log at last, dry. bald, and sear: 
A lily of a day, 
Is fairer far in May, 

Although it fall and die that night; 

It was the plant, and flower of light. 
In small proportions w^e just beauties see; 
And in short measures, life may perfect be. 

THE COUNTERTUKN. 

Call, noble Lucius, then for wdne, 

And let thy looks with gladness shine: 
Accept this garland, plant it on thy head, 
And think, nay know, thy Morison's not dead. 
He leaped the present age, 
Possessed with ho'y rage 

To see that bright eternal day ; 

Of which we priests and poets say 
Such truths, as we expect for happy men : 
And there he lives with memory and Ben. 



424 BEN JONSON. 

THE STAND. 

Jonson, who sung this of him, ere he went, 

Himself, to rest, 
Or taste a part of that full joy he meant 
To have expressed, 
In this bright Asterism! — 
Where it were friendship's schism, 
Were not his Lucius long with us to tarry, 
To separate these twi- 
Lights, the Dioscuri ; 
And keep the one half from his Harry. 
But fate doth so alternate the design, 
W^hilst that in heaven, this light on earth must shine. 

IV. THE TURN. 

And shine as you exalted are; 

Two names of friendship, but one star : 
Of hearts the union, and those not by chance 
Made, or indenture, or leased out t' advance 
The profits for a time. 
No pleasures vain did chime, 

Of rhymes, or riots, at your feasts. 

Orgies of drink, or feigned protests: 
But simple love of greatness and of good, 
That knits brave minds and manners more than blood 

THE COUNTERTURN. 

This made you first to know the why 

You liked, then after, to apj^ly 
That liking; and approach so one the t'other 
Till either grew a portion of the other: 
Each styled by his end, 
The copy of his friend. 

You lived to be the great sir-names, 

And titles, by which all made claims 
Unto the virtue ; nothing perfect done, 
But as a Gary, or a Morison. 

THE STAND. 

And such a force the fair example had. 

As they that saw 
The good, and durst not practice it, were glad 

That such a law 



VNDEnvroODS. 425 

"Was left yet to mankind; 
Where they might read and find 
Friendship, indeed, was written not in words; 
And with the heart, not pen, 
Of two so early men. 
Whose lines her rolls were, and records; 
Wlio, ere the first down bloomed upon the chin, 
Had sowed these fruits, and got the harvest in. 



TO THE EIGHT HONORABLE, 

THE LORD HIGH TREASURER OF ENGLAND.* 

AN Kl'lSTLK JIKXDICANT. 

My Lord. i«-^1- 

Poor wretched states, pressed by extremities, 
Are fain to seek for succors and supplies 
Of prince's aids, or good men's charities. 

Disease, the enemy, and his engineers, 

Want, with the rest of his concealed compeers, 

Have cast a trench about me, now five years, 

And made those strong approaches by false brays, 
Kedonts,half-moons,horn-works, and such close ways, 
The muse not peeps out, one of hundred days ; 

But lies blocked up and straitened, narrowed in. 
Fixed to the bed and boards, unlike to win 
Health, or scarce breath, as she had never been ; 

Unless some saving honor of the Crown, 
Dare think it, to relieve, no less renown, 
A bedrid wit, than a besieged town. 



TO THE KING, ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 

November 19. 1G32. 
AN EPIGRAM ANNIVEKSARY. 

This is King 'Charles his day. Speak it, thou Tower, 
Unto the ships, and they, from tier to tier, 

Discharge it 'bout the island in an hour. 
As loud as thunder, and as swift as fire. 



* lUcbard, Lord Westou, appointed Lord High Treasurer iu 1628. 



4^6 BEJS- JOKSON. 

Let Ireland meet it out at sea, half way,* 

Repeating all Great Britain's joy, and more, 
Adding her own glad accents to this day, 

Like Echo playing from the other shore. 
Wliat drums or trumpets, or great ordnance can, 

The poetry of steeples, with the bells, 
Three kingdoms' mirth, in light and aery man. 

Made lighter with the wine. All noises else. 
At ))onlires, rockets, fireworks, with the shouts 

That cry that gladness which their hearts would pray, 
Had they but grace of thinking, at these routs, 

On the often coming of this holy-day: 
And ever close the burden of the song, 
Still to have such a Charles, but this Charles long. 

The wish is great ; but where the prince is such. 
What prayers, people, can you think too much ! 



ON THE 

RIGHT HONORABLE AND VIRTUOUS LORD V/ESTON, 

LORD HIGH TREASURER OF ENGLAND. 
Upon the day he was made Earl of Portland, February 17, 1C32-3. 

TO THE ENVIOUS. 

Look up, thou seed of envy, and still bring 

Thy faint and narrow eyes to read the king 

In his great actions : view whom his large hand 

Hath raised to be the Port unto his Land ! 

AVeston ! that waking man ! that ejQ of state ! 

Wiio seldom sleeps! whom bad men only hate! 

Why do I irritate or stir up thee, 

Thou sluggish spawn, that canst but wilt not see! 

Feed on thyself for spite, and show thy kind, 

To virtue and true worth be ever blind ; 

Dream thou couldst hurt it. but before thou wake 

To effect it, feel thou'st made thine own heart ache. 

* It is no longer motion cheats your view ; 
As you meet it, tlie land approacheth yon. 

Drydex.— J.s<rcea Redux. 



UNDERWOODS. 427 

EPITHALAMION; OR, A SONG 

Celebrating the Nuptials of that Xoble Gentleman, ^Mr. Jeuomk "Westox, son 
and heir of the Lord Weston, Lord High Treasurer of England, vnth 
the Lady Fkaxcp^s Stuart, Daughter of P^sme. Duke of Lkxox, deceased, 
and sister of the surviving duke of the same name. 

Though thou hast passed thy summer-standing, stay 

A while with us, bright sun, and help our light; 
Thou canst not meet more glory on the way, 
Between thy tropics, to arrest thy sight, 
Than that thou slialt see to-day : 

We woo thee stay. 
And see what can be seen. 
The bounty of a king, and beauty of his queen. 

See the procession ! What a holy-day. 

Bearing the promise of some better fate, 
Hath filled, with caroches, all the way, 

From Greenwich hither to Roehampton gate! 
When looked the year, at best. 

So like a feast? 
Or were affairs in tune. 
By all the sphere's consent, so in the heart of June? 

What beauty of beauties, and bright youths at charge 

Of summer's liveries, and gladding green, 
Do boast their loves and braveries so at large, 
As they came all to see, and to be seen ! 
When looked the earth so fine. 

Or so did shine. 
In all her bloom and flower, 
To welcome home a pair, and deck the nuptial bower? 

It is the kindly saason of the time, 

The month of youth, which calls all creatures forth 
To do their offices in Nature's chime, 
And celebrate, perfection at the worth, 
Marriage, the end of life. 

That holy strife. 
And the allowed war, 
Through which not only we, but all our species are. 



428 BEN J0N80N. 

Hark how the bells upon the waters play 

Their sister-tunes from Thames his either side, 
As they had learned new changes for the day, 
And all did ring the approaches of the bride ; 
The lady Frances dressed, 

Above the rest 
Of all the maidens fair, 
In graceful ornament of garland, gems, and hair. 

See how she paceth forth in virgin white, 

Like what she is, the daughter of a duke. 
And sister ; darting forth a dazzling light 
On all that come her simplesse to rebuke ! 
Her tresses trim her back. 

As she did lack 
Nought of a maiden queen. 
With modesty so crowned, and adoration seen. 

Stay, thou wilt see what rites the virgins do. 

The choicest virgin-troop of all the land ! 
Porting the ensigns of united two, 

Both crowns and kingdoms in their either hand; 
"Whose majesties appear. 

To make more clear 
This feast, than can the day. 
Although that thou, oh sun, at our entreaty stay! 

See how with roses and with lilies shine, 
Lilies and roses, flowers of either sex. 
The bright bride's paths, embellished more than thine, 
With light of love this pair doth intertex! 
Stay, see the virgins sow, 

Where she shall go, 
The emblems of their way. — 
Oh, now thou smil'st, fair sun, and shin'st, as thcu 
wouldst stay! 

With what full hands, and in how plenteous showers 
Have they bedewed the earth, where she doth tread, 

As if her airy steps did spring the flowers, 

And all the ground were garden whex'e she led! 



UNDER WOODS. 429 

See, at another door, 
On the same floor, 
The bridegroom meets the bride 
"With all the pomp of youth, and all our court beside! 

Our court, and all the grandees ! Now, sun, look. 

And looking with thy best inquir}^ tell, 
In all thy age of journals thou hast took, 

Saw'st thou that pair became these rites so well, 
Save the preceding two? 

Who, in all they do. 
Search, sun, and thou wilt find 
They are the exampled pair, and mirror of their kind. 

Force from the phoenix, then, no rarity 

Of sex, to rob the creature ; but from man, 
The king of creatures, take his parity 

W^ith angels, muse, to speak these : nothing can 
Illustrate these, but they 

Themselves to-day, 
W^ho the whole act express ; 
All else we see beside are shadows, and go less. 

It is their grace and favor that makes seen, 

And wondered at the bounties of this day ; 
All is a story of the king and queen ; 
And what of dignity and honor may 
Be duly done to those 

Whom they have chose 
And set the mark upon. 
To give a greater name and title to! — their own! 

\Veston, their treasure, as their treasurer, 

That mine of wisdom, and of counsels deep, 
Great 'say -master of state, who can not err. 
But doth his carat, and just standard keep, 
In all the proved assays, 

And legal waA'S 
Of trials, to work down 
Men's loves unto the laws, and laws to love the crown. 



430 BEN JONSON. 

And this well moved the judgment of the king 

To pay with honors to his noble son 
To-day, the father's service ; who could briug 
Him up, to do the same himself had done: 
That far all-seeing eye 

Could soon espy 
What kind of waking man 
He had so highly set ; and in v»'hat barbican. 

Stand there ; for when a noble nature's raised, 

It brings friends joy, foes grief, posterity fame; 
In him the times, no less than prince, are praised, 
And by his rise, in active men, his name 
Doth emulation stir; 
To the dull a sjDur 
It is : to the envious meant 
A mere upbraiding grief, and torturing punishment. 

See! now the chapel opens, where the king 

And bishop stay to consummate the rites ; 
The holy prelate prays, then takes the ring, [plights 
Asks first. Who gives her? — I, Charles. Then he 
One in the other's hand. 

Whilst they both stand 
Hearing their charge, and then 
The solemn choir cries, Joy ! And they return, Amen ! 

Oh, liappy bands ! and thou more happy place. 
Which to tliis use wert built and consecrate! 
To have thy God to bless, thy king to grace, 
And this their chosen bishop celebrate. 
And knit the nuptial knot. 

Which time shall not, 
Or cankered jealousy. 
With all corroding arts, be able to untie ! 

The chapel empties, and thou mayst be gone 
Ncvr, sun, and post away the rest of day : 

These two, now holy church hath made them one, 
Do long to make themselves so another way: 



UNDERWOOBS. 431 

There is a feast beliind, 

To them of kind, 
Which their glad parents taught 
One to the other, long ere these to light were brought. 

Haste, haste, officious sun, and send them night 

Some hours before it should, that these may know 
All that their fathers and their mothers might 
Of nuptial sweets, at such a season, owe, 
To propagate their names, 

And keep their fames 
Alive, which else would die; 
For fame keeps virtue up, and it posterity. 

The ignoble never lived, they were a while 

Like swine, or other cattle here on earth : 
Their names are not recorded on the file 

Of life, that fall so ; Christians know their birth 
Alone, and such a race. 
We pray may grace. 
Your fruitful spreading vine. 
But dare not ask our wish in languac>'e fescennine. 

Yet, as we may, we will : — with chaste desires. 

The holy perfumes of the marriage bed, 
Be kept alive, those sweet and sacred fires 
Of love between you and your lovely-head; 
That v\'hen you both are old, 

You find no cold 
There ; but, renewed, say, 
After the last child born, This is our wedding-day, — ■ 

Till you behold a race to fill your hall — 

A Richard, and a Jerome, by their names 
Upon a Thomas, or a Francis call; 

A Kate, a Frank, to honor their grand-dames. 
And 'tween their grandsires thighs. 

Like pretty spies, 
Peep forth a gem : to see 
How each one plays his part, of the large j)edigree. 



482 BEN JONSON. 

And never may tliere want one of the stem, 

To be a watchful servant for this state; 
But like an arm of eminence 'niongst them, 
Extend a reaching virtue early and late! 
Whilst the main tree still found 

Upright and sound, 
By this sun's noonstead's made 
So great, his body now alone projects the shade. 

They both are slipped to bed : shut fast the door, 

And let them freely gather love's first-fruits ; 
He's master of the office ; yet no more 

Exacts than she is pleased to pay: no suits, 
Strifes, murmurs, or delay, 

Will last till day; 
Night and the sheets will show 
The longing couple all that elder lovers know. 



TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE JEROME LORD WESTON. 

An Ode gratulatory.fur his Return from his Embassy, 
1G32-3. 

Such pleasure as the teeming earth 
Doth take in easy Nature's birth, 

When she puts forth the life of everything ; 
And in a dew of sweetest rain. 
She lies delivered without pain. 

Of the prime beauty of the year, the Spring. 

The rivers in their shores do run, 
The clouds rack clear before the sun, 

The rudest winds obey the calmest air; 
Rare plants from every bank do rise. 
And every plant the sense surprise. 

Because the order of the whole is fair! 

The very verdure of her nest. 
Wherein she sits so richly dressed. 

As all the wealth of season there was spread, 
Doth show the Graces and the Hours 
Have multiplied their arts and powers, 

In making soft her aromatic bed. 



UNDERWOODS. 433 

Such joys, such sweets, doth your return 
Bring all your friends, fair lord, that burn 

With love, to hear your modesty relate, 
The business of your blooming wit, 
With all the fruit shall follow it. 

Both to the honor of the king and state. 

Oh, how will then our court be pleased, 
To see great Charles of travail eased, 

When he beholds a graft of his own hand, 
Shoot up an olive, fruitful, fair, 
To be a shadow to his heir. 

And both a strength and beauty to his land ! 



AN EXPOSTULATION WITH INIGO JONES. 

Master Surveyor, you that first began 

From thirty pounds in pipkins, to the man 

You are: from them leaped forth an architect. 

Able to talk of Euclid, and correct 

Both him and Archimede ; damn Archytas, 

The noblest engineer that ever was : 

Control Ctesibius, overbearing us 

With mistook names, out of Vitruvius ; 

Drawn Aristotle on us, and thence showu 

How much Architactonice is your own ; 

Whether the building of the stage, or gcene, 

Or making of the properties it mean. 

Vizors, or antics ; or it comprehend 

Something your sir-ship doth not yet intend. 

By all your titles, and whole style at once, 

Of tireman, mountebank, and Justice Jones, 

I do salute you: are you fitted yet? 

Will any of these express your place, or wit? 

Or are you so ambitious 'bove your peers. 

You'd be an Assinigo by your ears? 

Wliy much good dj 't you; be what part you will, 

Yoa 11 be, as Lini^'ley said, "an Inigo still." 

What makes your wretchedness to bray so loud 

In town and court? Are you grown rich and proud? 



434 BEN JONSON. 

Your trapping's will not change you, change your mind; 

No velvet suit 3'ou wear will alter kind. 

A wooden dagger is a dagger of wood, 

Nor gold, nor ivory haft can make it good. 

What is the cause you pomp it so, I ask? 

And all men echo, you have made a masque. 

I chime that too. and I have met with those 

That do cry up the machine, and the shows; 

The majesty of Juno in the clouds. 

And peering forth of Iris in the shrouds ; 

The ascent of lady Fame, which none could spy, 

Not they that sided her, dame Poetr^^, 

Dame History, dame Architecture too, 

And goody Sculpture, brought with much ado 

To hold her up; Oh shows, shows, mighty shows! 

The eloquence of masques ! What need of prose 

Or verse, or prose, t' express immortal you? 

You are the spectacles of state, 'tis true, 

Court-hieroglyphics, and all arts afford. 

In the mere perspective of an inch-board; 

You ask no more than certain politic eyes, 

Ej'es that can pierce into the mysteries 

Of many colors, read them, and reveal 

Mythology, there painted on slit deal. 

Or to make boards to speak! There is a task! 

Painting and carpentry are the soul of masque. 

Pack with your peddling poetry to the stage, 

This is the money-got, mechanic age. 

To plant the music where no ear can reach, 

Attire the persons, as no thought can teach 

Sense, what they are ; which by a si^ecious, fine 

Term of {you) Architects, is called Design ; 

But in the practiced truth, destruction is 

Of any art, besides what he calls his. 

Whither, oh, whither will this tireman grow? 

His name is ^j7yo7rozo5, we all know. 

The maktr of the properties ; in sum. 

The scene, the engine ; but he now is come 

To be the music-master ; tablertoo; 

He is, or would be, the main Uominus Do- 



UNDERWOODS. 435 

All of the work, and so slifill still for Ben, 

Ba luigo, the whistle, and his men. 

He's warm on his feet, now, he says and can 

Swim without cork: why, thank th3 good Queen Anne. 

I am too fat to envy, he too lean 

To be worth envy; henceforth I do mean 

To pity him, as smiling at his feat 

Of lantern-lerry, with fuliginous heat 

Whirling his whimsies, by a subtility 

Sucked from the veins of shop-philosophy. 

What would he do now, giving his mind that way, 

In presentation of some puppet-play, 

Should but the king his justice-hood employ, 

In setting forth of such a solemn toy? 

How would he iirk, like Adam Overdo, 

Up and about ; dive into cellars too, 

Dis-ruised. and theU'^e drag forth Enormity, 

Discover Vic3, commit Absurdity; 

Under the moral show ha had a pite 

Molded or stroked up to survey a state! 

Oh, wise surveyor, wiser architect, 

Bab wisest Inigo ; who can reflect 

On the new priming of thy old sign-posts, 

Ejviving with fresh colors the pale ghosts 

Of tliy dead standards; or with marvel see 

Tiiy twice conceived, thrice paid for imagery; 

And not fall down before it, and confess 

Almighty Architecture, who no less 

A goddess is, than painted cloth, deal board, 

Vermilion, lake, or crimson can afford 

Expression for; with that unbounded line, 

x\imed at in thy omnipotent design ! 

Wiiat poesy e'er was painted on a wall, 

Tnat might compare with thee? What story shall 

Of all the worthies, hope t' outlast thy own, 

So the materials be of Purbeck stone'? 

Live long the feasting room! And ere thou burn 

Again, thy architect to ashes turn ; 

Whom not ten fires, nor a parliament, can, 

With all remonstrance, make an honest man. 



436 BEN JONSOK. 

TO A FRIEND. 

AN EPir.UAM OF IXIGO JONES. 

Sir luigo doih fear it, as I hear, 

And labors to seem worthy of this fear. 

That I should write upon him some sharp verse, 

Able to eat into his bones, and pierce 

The marrow. Wretch! I quit thee of thy pain, 

Thou 'rt too ambitious, and dost fear in vain* 

The Libyan lion hunts no butterflies; 

He makes the camel and dull ass his prize. 

If thou be so desirous to be read, 

Seek out some hungry painter, that, for bread, 

With rotten chalk or coal, upon the wall, 

Will well design thee to be viewed of all 

That sit upon the common draught or strand; 

Thy forehead is too narrow for my brand. 



TO INIGO MARQUIS WOULD-BE. 

A COROLLARY. 

But 'cause thou hear'st the mighty King of Spain 

Hath made his Inigo marquis,* wouldst thou fain 

Our Charles should make thee such'? 'twill not become 

All kings to do the selfsame deeds as some: 

Besides, his man may merit it, and be 

A noble honest soul: what's this to thee? 

He may have skill, and judgment to design 

Cities and temples, thou a cave for wine, 

Or ale ; he build a jDalace, thou the shop. 

With sliding windows, and false lights a-top; 

He draw a forum with quadrivial streets; 

Thou paint a lane where Tom Thumb Jeffrey meets, 

He some Colossus, to bestride the seas, 

From the famed pillars of old Hercules; 

Thy canvas giant at some channel aims; 

Or Dowgate torrents falling into Thames ; 

And straddling shows the boys' brown pajoer fleet 

Yearly set out there, to sail down the street. 

* This passage left-rs to a current notion, having its origin in Jones's 
Christian name, that he had a Spaniard for bis godfather. 



UNDERWOODS. 437 

Your works thus differing, much less so your style, 
Content thee to be Pancridge earl the while, 
An earl of show ; for all thy worth is show : 
But when thou turn'st a real Inigo, 
Or canst of truth the least entrenchment pitch, 
We'll have thee styled the Marquis of Tower-ditch. 

THE HUMBLE PETITION OF POOR BEN; 

TO THE BEST OF MCNARCHS, MASTERS, MEN, 
KING CHARLES. 

Doth most humbly show it, 



To your majesty, your poet 

That whereas your ro3'al father, 

James the blessed, pleased the rather. 

Of his special grace to letters. 

To make all the Muses debtors 

To his bounty, by extension 

Of a free poetic pension, 

A large hundred marks annuity, 

To be given me in gratuity 

For done service, and to come : 

And that this so accepted sum, 
Or dispensed in books or bread 
(For with both the Muse was fed,) 
Hath drawn on me, from the times, 
All the envy of the rhymes. 
And ihe rattling pit-pat noise 
Of the less poetic boys. 
When their pot-guns aim to hit. 
With their pellets of small wit, 
Parts of me they judged decayed ; 
But we last out still unlaved. 

Please your majesty to make 
Of your grace, for goodness sake. 
Those your father's marks, your pounds 
L«t their spite, which now abounds, 
Then go on, and do its worst ; 
This would all their envy burst; 
And so warm the j^oet's tongue. 
You'd read a snake in his next song. 



438 BEN JONSON. 

AN EPIGRAM, 

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE LORD TREASURER ON ENGLAND. 

If to my mind, great lord, I had a state, 
I would present you now with curious plate 
Of Nuremberg, or Turkey ; hang your rooms, 
Not with the Arras, but the Persian looms: 
I would, if price or prayer could them get, 
Send in what or Romano, Tintoret, 
Titian, or Raphael, Michael Angelo, 
Have left in fame to equal, or outgo 
The old Greek hands in picture or in stone. 

This I w^ould do, could I think Weston one 
Catched with these arts, wherein the judge is wise 
As far as sense, and only by the eyes. 
But you I know, my lord, and know you can 
Discern between a statue and a man ; 
Can do the things that statues do deserve. 
And act the business which they paint or carve. 
What you have studied are the arts of life : 
To compose men and manners; stint the strife 
Of murmuring subjects; make the nations know 
What worlds of blessings to good kings they owe; 
And mightiest monarchs feel what large increase 
Of sweets and safeties they possess by peace. 
These I look up at with a reverent eye, 
And strike religion in the standers-by ; 
Which, though I can not, as an architect, 
In glorious piles or pj^ramids erect 
Unto your honor; I can tune in song 
Aloud ; and, haph^, it may last as long.* 

* We learn from the followius con temporary epigram that Jonson re- 
ceived £40 for these verses. 

To Beu Jonson, upon his vei'ses to the Earl of Portland, Lord 
Tiea.siirer. 
Your verses are coniniended, and 'tis true, 
That they were very good, I mean to you ; 
For they returned you, Ben, as I was told, 
A certain sum of foi'ty pound in gold ; 
The verses tlien b<'lng riglitly ninlerstood, 
His lordsliip, not Beu Jouson, made them good. 



UNDERWOODS. 439 

AN EPIGRAM 

TO MY MUSE, THE LADY DIGBY, ON HER HUSBAND, SIR 
KENELM DIGBY. 

Though, happy Muse, thou know'st my Digby well, 

Yet read him in these lines : he doth excel 

In honor, courtesy, and all the parts 

Court can call hers, or man could call his arts. 

He's prudent, valiant, just, and temperate; 

In him all virtue is beheld in state ; 

And he is built like some imparial room 

For that to d\vell in, and be still at home. 

His breast is a brave palace, a broad street, 

Where all heroic ample thoughts do meet: 

'\Yhere Nature such a large survey hath ta'en, 

As other souls, to his, dwelt in a lane: 

Witness his action done at Scanderoon, 

Upon his birthday, the eleventh of June ; 

When the apostle Barnaby, the bright, 

Unto our year doth give the longest light. 

In sign the subject, and the song will live, 

Wliich I have vowed posterity to give. 

Go, Muse, in, and salute him. Say he be 

Busy, or frown at first ; when he sees thee 

He will clear up his forehead ; think thou bring'st 

Good omen to him in the note thou sing'st: 

For he doth love my verses, and will look 

Upon them, next to Spenser's noble book. 

And praise them too. Oh, what a fame 't will be, 

What reputation to my lines and me, 

"When he shall read them at the Treasurer s board, 

The knowing Weston, and that learned lord 

Allows them! Then, what copies shall be had, 

What transcripts begged ! how cried up, and how glad 

Wilt thou be. Muse, when this shall them befall ! 

Being sent to one, they will be read of all. 




440 BEN JONSO]^. 

A NEW YEAR'S GIFT, SUNG TO KING CHARLES, 1635. 

PKELUDE. 

New years expect new gifts. Sister, jowr harp, 
Lute, lyre, theorbo, all are called to-day; 

Your change of notes, the flat, the mean, the sharp, 
To show the rites, and usher forth the way 

Of the new year, m a new silken warp. 

To tit the softness of your year's-gift, when 
We sing the best of monarchs, masters, men ; 

For had we here said less, we had sung nothing then. 

CHOEUS OF NYMPHS AND SHEPHERDS. 

Hector Cho. To-day old Janus opens the new year. 
And shuts the old. Haste, haste, all loyal swains, 

That know the times and seasons when t' appear. 
And offer your just service on these plains ; 

Best kings expect first-fruits of your glad gains. 

1. Pan is the great preserver of our bounds. 

2. To him we owe all profits of our grounds. 

3. Our milk 4. Our fells. 5. Our fleeces. 6. And 

first lambs. 
7. Our teeming ewes. 8. And lusty mounting rams. 
9. See where he walks with Mira by his side. 

Cho. Sound, sound his praises loud, and with his hers 

divide. ^ 
Of Pan we sing, the best of hunters. Pan, 
That drives the hart to seek unused ways, 

Shep. And in the chase, more than Sylvanus can. 

Cho. Hear, oh ye groves, and, hills, resound his praise. 
Of brightest Mira do we raise our song, 
Sister of Pan, and glory of the spring ; 

Nym. Who walks on earth, as May still went along. 

Cho, Eivers and valleys, echo what we sing. 



UNDEIUVOODS. 441 

Cho. of Shep. Of Pan we sing, the chief of leaders, Pan 
That leads our flocks and us. and c-ills both forth 

To better pastures than great Pales can : 

Hear, oh ye groves, and, hills, resound his worthy. 

Cho. of Nym. Of brightest Mira is our song ; the grace 
Of all that Nature yet to life did bring : 

And were she lost, could best supply her place; 
Kivers and valleys, echo what we sing. 

1. Where'er they tread the enamored ground, 
The fairest flowers are always found ; 

2. As if the beauties of the year 

Still waited on them where they were. 

1. He is the father of our peace : 

2. She to the crown hath brought increase 
1. We know no other power than his; 

Pan only our great shepherd is, 

Cho. Our great, our good. Where one's so dressed 
In truth of colors, both are best. 

Eect. Chor. Haste, haste you hither, all you gentlel 
Swains, 
That have a flock or herd upon these plains : 
This is the great preserver of our bounds, 
To whom you owe all duties of your grounds ; 
Your milks, your fells, your fleeces, and first lambs, 
Your teeming ewes, as well as mounting rams % 
Whose praises let's report unto the woods. 
That they may take it echoed by the floods. 

Cho. Tis he. 'tis he ; in singing he. 

And hunting, Pan, exceedeth thee: 
He gives all plenty and increase, 
* He is the author of our peace. 

Rect. Cho. Where'er he goes, upon the ground 
The better grass and flowers are found. 
To sweeter pastures lead he can, 
Than ever Pales could, or Pan ; 



442 BEN J0N80N. 

He drives diseases from our folds, 
The thief from sj^oil his presence holds: 
Pan knows no other power than his, 
This only the great shepherd is. 

Cho. 'Tis he, 'tis he, &c. 



ON THE KING'S BIRTHDAY/ 

Rouse up thyself, my gentle muse. 

Though now our green conceits be gray, 
And yet once more do not refuse 

To take thy Phrygian harp, and play 
In honor of this cheerful day: 

Long may they both contend to prove, 
That best of crowns is such a love. 

Make first a song of joy and love, 
Which chastely flames in royal eyes^ 

Then tune it to the spheres above, 
A\Tien the benignest stars do rise. 
And sweet cou junctions grace the skies. 
Long may, &c. 

To this let all good hearts resound. 

Whilst diadems invest his head; 
Long may he live, whose life doth bound 

More than his laws, and better led 

By high example than by dread. 
Long may, &c. 

Long may he round about him see 
His ros«s and his lilies blown: 

Long may his only dear and he 
Jo}^ in ideas of their own, 
And kingdom's hopes so timely sown. 
Long may, &c. 

* Giffdid conjectures tliat tliis \v;i.s. ]ii'ol)ably, Jonson's Inst tiibute to the 
kiii<i. A sliiiizu has butu jippaieiitl^\ lost, or coufouuded with the opeuing 
oue. 



UNDERWOODS. 443 

TO r/IY LORD THE KING. 

ON THE CHRISTENING HIS SECOND SON, JAMES.* 

That thou art loved of Go-1, this -A-ork is done, 
Grent king-, tliv having of a second son: 
And by thy blessing niay thy people see 
How much they are beloved of God in thee. 
Would they would understand it! Princes are 
Great aids to empire, as the}^ are great care 
To pious parents, who would have their blood 
Should take first seisin of the public good, 
As hath thy James ; cleansed from original dross, 
This day, by baptism, and his Savior's cross. 
Grow up, sweet babe, as blessed in thy name. 
As in renewing thy good grandsire's fame; 
Methought, Great Britain in her sea, before 
Sate safe enough, but now secured more. 
At land she triumphs in the triple shade. 
Her rose and lily intertwined have made. 

Oceauo seciini lueo, secmior umbiis. 



AN ELEGY 

ON THE LADY JANE PA^\T:.ET, MARCHIONESS OF WINTON.f 

What gentle ghost, besprent with April dew, 

Hails me so solemnly to yonder yew, 

And beckoning woos me, from the fatal tree 

To pluck a garland for herself, or me? 

I do obey you, beauty ! For in death, 

You seem a fair one ! Oh, that jow. had breath 

To give your shade a name ! Stay, stay, I feel 

A horror in me; all my blood is steel; 

Stiff, stark, my joints 'gainst one another knock! 

Whose daughter? Ha! great savage of the Rock. 

He's good as great. I am almost a stone, — 

And ere I can ask more of her she's gone! 

Alas, I am all marble ! Write the rest 

Thou wouldst have written, Fame, upon my breast; 

* Aflerwards James II. Boiii October 15tli. 1633. 

t Kock Savaj:e was tbe name of the seat iu Cheshire of the Marchiouess 
of Winchester's family. 



444 BEN J0N80N. 

It is a large fair table, and a true, 

And the disj^osure will be something new, 

When I, who would the poet have become, 

At least may bear the inscription to her tomb. 

She was the lady Jane, and marchioness 

Of Winchester ; the heralds can tell this. 

Earl Rivers' grandchild, — 'serve not forms, good Fame, 

Sound thou her virtues, give her soul a name. 

Had I a thousand mouths, as many tongues, 

And voice to raise them from my brazen lungs, 

I durst not aim at that ; the dotes were such 

Thereof, no notion can express how much 

Their carat was ! I or my trump must break, 

But rather I, should I of that j^art speak ; 

It is too near of kin to heaven, the soul. 

To be described! Fame's fingers are too foul 

To touch these mysteries : we may admire 

The blaze and splendor, but not handle fire. 

What she did here, by great example, well, 

T' inlive posterity, her fame may tell ; 

And, calling truth to witness, make that good 

From the inherent graces in her blood! 

Else, who doth praise a person by a new. 

But a feigned way, doth rob it of the true. 

Her sweetness, softness, her fair courtesy, 

Her wary guards, her v/ise simplicity. 

Were like a ring of virtues 'bout her set, 

And piety the center, where all met. 

A reverend state she had, an awful eye, 

A dazzling, yet inviting majesty: 

Wiiat nature, fortune, institution, fact 

Could sum to a perfection, was her act ! 

How did she leave the world, with what contempt! 

Just as she in it lived, and so exempt 

From all affection ! When they urged the cure 

Of her disease, how did her soul assure 

Her sufferings, as the body had been away ! 

And to the torturers, her doctors, say. 

Stick on your cupping-glasses ; fear not, put 

Youi' hottest caustics to burn; lance, or cut: 



UNDERWOODS. 445 

'Tis but a body which you can torment, 
And I, into the world all soul was sent ! 
Then comforted her lord, and blessed her son, 
Cheered her fair sisters in her race to run. 
With gladness tempered her sad parents' tears, 
Made her friends' joys to get above their fears. 
And in her last act taught the standers-by 
With admiration and applause to die !* 

Let angels sing her glories, who did call 
Her spirit home to her original; 
Who saw the way was made it, and were sent 
To carry and conduct the compliment 
'Twixt death and life, where her mortality 
Became her birthday to eternity! 
And now through circumfused light she looks 
On Nature's secrets there, as her own books: 
Speaks heaven's language, and discourseth free 
To every order, every hierarchy! 
Beholds her Maker, and in Him doth see 
What the beginnings of all beauties be ; 
And all beatitudes that thence do flow, 
Which they that have the crown are sure to know I 

Go now, her happy parents, and be sad 
If you not understand what child you had. 
If you dare grudge at heaven, and rejoent 
T ' have paid again a blessing was but lent, 

* It appears from Milton's affertiug epitaph on this lady, that she died 
in childbirth, at the early age of three and twenty ; and the following 
passage intimates that the child was still-born : — 

Once had the early matrons run 
To grett lier of a lovely son . 
And now with second hope she goes, 
And calls Lucina to her throes. 
But, whether by mischance or blame, 
Atropos for Lnciua came; 
And with remorseless cruelty 
Spoiled at once both fruit and tree. 
The liapless babe before his birth, 
Had burial, yet not laid in earth ; 
And the languished mother's womb 
Was not long a living tomb. 

"It is remarkable." says Warton. ''that both husband and wife should 
have severally leceived the honor of an epitaph from two sucli poet.s a.s 
Milton and Dryden." This statement n>ight have been rendered still 
more "remarkable,"' if Warton had not forgotten to include the elegy by 
Jonson. 



446 BEN JONSON. 

And trusted so, as it deposited lay 

At pleasure, tj ba called for every day! 

If you can envy your own daughter's bliss, 

And wish her state less liaj)py than it is; 

If you can cast about your either eye, 

And see all dead here, or about to die! 

The stars, that are the jewels of the night, 

And day, deceasing with the prince of light, 

The sun, great kings, and mightiest kingdoms fall; 

Whole nations, nay, mankind, the world, with all 

That ever had beginning there, t' have end! 

With what injustice should one soul pretend 

T' escape this common known necessity? 

When we were all born, we began to die ; 

And, but for that contention and brave strife, 

The Christian hath t' enjoy the future life, 

He were the wretched'st of the race of men ; 

But as he soars at that, he bruiseth then 

The serpent's head ; gets above death, and sin, 

And, sure of heaven, rides triumjDhing in. 



EUPHEME: OR, THE FAIR FAME 

Left to posterity of that truhj noble lady, the Lady Texetia Dighy. late wife 
o/Siu KEXEr.M DiOBY. Knr., a gentleman absolute in all numbers. 

CONSISTING OF THESE TEN PIECES:— 
The Dedicntion of her Cradle, 
The SoufT of her Descent, 
The Picture of her Body, 

lier Mind, 

Hei' beinsi chosen a Muse, 
Her fair offices, 

Vivujn amare Toliqjtas. dcfunctam Religio.— Stat. 



Her h,ii)py Match, 
Ht'i- hoDcful issue, 
^^rAnOGEn^IS, or, Relation 

to the Saints, 
Her Inscription, or Crowinng. 



I. THE DEDICATION OF HER CRADLE. 

Fair Fame, who art ordained to crown. 
With evergreen and great renown. 
Their heads that Envy would hold down 
With her, in shade 

Of death and darkness ; and deprive 
Their names of being kept alive. 
By thee and conscience, both who thrive 
By the just trade 



UNDER WOODS. 447 

Of goodness still : vouchsafe to take 
Tills cradle, and, for goodness sake, 
A dedicated ensign make 

Thereof to Time ; 

That all posterity, as we, 
Who read what the Crepundia be, 
May something by that twilight see 
'Bove rattling rhyme. 

For though that rattles, timbrels, toys, 
Take little infants with their noise, 
As properest gifts to girls and boys, 
Of light expense ; 

Their corals, whistles, and prime coats, 
Their painted masks, their paper boats, 
With sails of silk, as the first notes 
Surprise their sense. 

Yet here are no such trifles brought, 
No cobweb cauls, no surcoats wrought 
With gold, or clasps, which might be bought 
On every stall: 

But here's a song of her descent ; 
And call to the high parliament 
Of heaven ; where seraphim take tent 
Of ordering all: 

This uttered by an ancient bard. 
Who claims, of reverence, to be heard, 
As coming with his harp prepared 
To chant her gree, 

Is sung : as als' her getting up, 
By Jacob's ladder, to the top 
Of that eternal port, kept ope 
For such as she. 



448 BEN JONSON. 

II. THE SONG OF HER DESCENT. 

I sing the just and uncontrolled descent 

Of dame Venetia Digb}", styled the fair: 
For mind and body the most excellent 

That ever Nature, or the later air, 
Gave t^YO such houses as Northumberland 

And Stanley, to the which she was co-heir. 
Si)eak it, you bold Penates! You that stand 

At either stem, and know the veins of good 
Eun from your roots ; tell, testify the grand 

Meeting of Graces, that so swelled the flood 
Of virtues in her, as, in short, she grew 

The wonder of her sex, and of your blood. 
And tell thou, Alde-leyh, none can tell more true, 

Thy niece's line, than thou that gav'st thy name 
Into the kindred, whence thy Adam drew 

Meschine's honor, with the Cestrian fame 
Of the first Lupus, to the family 

By Kanulph * * * 

[The rest of this song is lost] 
III. THE PICTURE OF THE BODY. 

Sitting, and ready to be drawn, 
What make these velvets, silks, and lawilj 
Embroideries, feathers, fringes, lace, 
Where every limb takes like a face? 

Send thesQ suspected helps to aid 
Some form defective, or decayed ; 
This beauty, without falsehood fair, 
Needs nought to clothe it but the air. 

Yet something to the painter's view 
Were fitly interposed; so new: 
He shall, if he can understand, 
AVork by my fancy, with his hand. 

Draw first a cloud, all save her neck, 
And out of that make da}^ to break; 
Till like her face it do appear. 
And men may think all light rose thert. 



UNDER WOODS. 449 

Then let the beams ©f that disperse 
The cloud, and show the universe ; 
But at such distance, as the eye 
May rather yet adore, than spy. 

The heaven designed, draw next a spring, 
With all that j^outh, or it can bring: 
Four rivers branching forth like seas, 
And Paradise confining these. 

Last, draw the circles of this globe, 
And let there be a starry robe 
Of constellations 'bout her hurled ; 
And thou hast painted Beauty's w^orld. 

But, Dainter, see thou do not sell 
A copy of this piece ; nor tell 
Whose 'tis : but if it favor find, 
Next sittinof we will draw her mind. 



IV. THE PICTURE OF THE MIND. 

Painter, you're come, but may be gone? 
Now I have better thought thereon, 
This work I can perform alone ; 
And fjive vou reasons more than one. 

Not that your art I do refuse ; 
But here I may no colors use. 
Beside, your hand will never hit. 
To draw a thing that can not sit. 

You could make shift to paint an eye. 
An eagle towering in the sky. 
The sun, a sea, or soundless pit; 
But these are like a mind, not it. 

No, to express this mind to sense. 
Would ask a heaven's intelligence ; 
Since nothing can report that flame, 
But what's of kin to whence it came. 



450 BEN JONSON. 

Sweet Mind, then speak yourself, and say^ 
As you go on, by what brave way 
Our sense you do with knowledge fill, 
And yet remain our wonder still. 

I call you, Muse, now make it true : 
Henceforth may every line be you ; 
That all may say, that see the frame, 
This is no picture, but the same. 

A mind so pure, so perfect fine, 
As 'tis not radiant, but divine ; 
And so disdaining any trier, 
*Tis got where it can try the fire. 

There, high exalted in the sphere, 
As it another Nature were. 
It moveth all ; and makes a flight 
As circular as infinite. 

Whose notions when it will express 
In speech, it is with that excess 
Of grace, and music to the ear. 
As what it spoke, it planted there. 

The voice so sweet, the words so fair, 
As some soft chime had stroked the air; 
And though the sound had parted thence, 
Still left an echo in the sense. 

But that a mind so rapt, so high, 

So swif-t, so pure, should yet apply 

Itself to us, and come so nigh 

Earth's grossness ; there's the how and why, 

Is it because it sees us dull, 
And sunk in clay here, it would pull 
Us forth, by some celestial sleight. 
Up to her own sublimed height? 

Or hath she here, upon the ground, 
Some Paradise or 23alace found, 
In all the bounds of beauty, fit 
For her t' inhabit ? There is it. 



UNDER WOODS. 451 

Thrice happy house, that hast receipt 
For this so lofty form, so straight. 
So pohshed, perfect, round and even, 
As it slid molded off from heaven. 

Not swelling, like the ocean proud, 
But stooping gently, as a cloud. 
As smooth as oil poured forth, and calm 
As showers, and sweet as droj^s of balm. 

Smooth, soft, and sweet, in all a flood, 
Where it may run to any good ; 
And where it stays, it there becomes 
A nest of odorous spice and gums. 

In action, winged as the wind; 
In rest, like spirits left behind 
Upon a bank, or field of flowers. 
Begotten by the wind and showers. 

In thee, fair mansion, let it rest. 

Yet know, with what thou art possessed, 

Thou, entertaining in thy breast 

But such a mind, mak'st God thy guest. 

[A whole quaternion in the midst of this poem is lost, containing entirely the 
three next pieces of it. and all of the fourth (which in the order of the ivhole is 
the eighth) excepting the very end : ivhich at the top of the next quaternion goeth 
•n thus ;] 

VIII. A FRAGMENT. 

But for 3'ou, growing gentlemen, the happy brandies of 

two so ilhistrious houses as these, wherefrom your honored 
mother is in both lines descended: let me leave you this last 
legac}' of counsel ; which, so soon as you arrive at years of ma- 
ture understanding, open 3-ou, sir, that are the eldest, and read it 
to your brethren, for it will concern jon all alike. Vowed by a 
faithful servant and client of your family, with his latest breath 
expiring it. Ben Jcnson. 

TO KENELM, JOHN, GEORGE.* 

Boast not these titles of your ancestors, 
Brave youths, they're their possessions, none of yours. 
When your own virtues equaled have their names, 
'Twill be but fair to lean upon- their fames ; 

* The three sous of Lady Digby. 



452 BEN J0N80N. 

For they are strong- supporters ; but, till then, 

The greatest are but growing gentlemen. 

It is a wretched thing to trust to reeds ; 

Which all men do, that urge not their own deeds 

Up to their ancestors : the river's side 

By which you're planted, shows j^our fruit shall bide. 

Hang all your rooms with one large pedigree ; 

'Tis virtue alone is true nobility: 

Which virtue from ^^our father, ripe, will fall; 

Study illustrious him, and you have all 

IX. ELEGY ON MY MUSE, 

The truly honored lady, The Lauy Venrtia Dioby: ivho living gave me leave 
to call her so, being her 'AIlO(::)Efl2 12 ,or, Relation to the Saints." 

Sera quidem tanto struitur mediciiia dolore. 

'Twere time that I died too, now she is dead, 

Who was my muse, and life of all I said ; 

The spirit that I wrote with, and conceived, 

All that was good, or great with me, she weaved. 

And set it forth : the rest were cobwebs fine. 

Spun out in name of some of the old Nine, 

To hang a window, or make dark a room. 

Till swept away, they were canceled with a broom! 

Nothing that could remain, or yet can stir 

A sorrow in me, lit to wait to her! 

Oh, had I seen her laid out a fair corse. 

By death, on earth, I should have had remorse 

On Nature for her ; who did let her lie. 

And saw that portion of herself to die. 

Sleepy or stupid Nature, couldst thou part 

With such a rarity, and not rouse Art, 

With all her aids, to save her from the seize 

Of vulture Death, and those relentless cleis?* 

Thou w^ouldst have lost the Phoenix, had the kind 

Been trusted to thee ; not to itself assigned. 

Look on thy sloth, and give thyself undone, 

(For so thou art wdth me) now she is gone : 

My wounded mind can not sustain this stroke. 

It rages, runs, flies, stands, and would provoke 

* dlv.'t"!. '*"* "^ old spelli-»\ is generally clees. 



U^-injR WOODS. 453 

Tlie world to ruin witli it: in her fall, 

I snni up my own brealdno*. and wish all. 

Thou hast no more blows. Fate, to drive at one; 

What's left a poet when his muse is ^one? 

Sure I am dead, and know it not! I feel 

Nothing I do ; but, like a heavy wheel, 

Am turned with another's powers: mj j^assion 

Whirls me about, and, to blas2)heme in fashion, 

I murmur against God, for having ta'en 

Her blessed soul hence, forth this valley vain 

Of tears, and dungeon of calamity! 

I envy it the angel's amity. 

The joy of saints, the crown for which it lives. 

The glory and gain of rest, which the place giveSo 

Dare I profane so irreligious be, 
To greet or grieve her soft euthanasy! 
So sweetly taken to the court of bliss, 
As spirits had stolen her spirit in a kiss, 
From off her pillow and deluded bed ; 
And left her lovely body unthought dead! 
Indeed she is not dead ! But laid to sleep 
In earth, till the last trump awake the sheep 
And goats together, whither they must come 
To hear their judge, and his eternal doom ; 
To have that final retribution. 
Expected with the flesh's restitution. 
For, as there are three Natures, schoolmen call 
One cor2:)oral only, th' other spiritual, 
Like single: so there is a third commixed 
Of body and spirit together, placed betwixt 
Those other two; which must be judged or crowned: 
This, as it guilty is, or guiltless found. 
Must come to take a sentence, by the sense 
Of that great evidence, the Conscience, 
Who will be there, against that day prepared, 
T' accuse or quit all parties to be heard! 
Oh, day of joy, and surety to the just. 
Who in that feast of resurrection trust ! 
That great eternal holy day of rest 
To body and soul, where love is all the guest! 



454 ^ BEN JONSON. 

And the whole banquet is full sight of God, 
Of joy the circle, and sole period! 
All other gladness with the thouglit is barred ; 
Hope hath her end, and Faith hath her reward! 

This being thus, whj^ should my tongue or pen 
Presume to interpel that fulness, when 
Nothing can more adorn it than the seat 
That she is in, or make it more com^^lete? 
Better be dumb than superstitious: 
Who violates the Godhead, is most vicious 
Against the nature he would worship). He 
Will honored be in all simplicity, 
Have all his actions wondered at, and viewed 
With silence and amazement; not with rude, 
Dull and j^rofane, weak and imperfect eyes. 
Have busy search made in his mysteries ! 
He knows what work he hath done, to call this guest 
Out of her noble body to this feast: 
And give her place according to her blood 
Amongst her peers, those princes of all good! 
Saints, Martyrs, Prophets, with those Hierarchies, 
Angels, Archangels, Principalities, 
The Dominations, Virtues, and the Powers, 
The Thrones, the Cherubs, and Seraphic bowers. 
That, planted round, there sing before the Lamb 
A new song to his praise, and great I am : 
And she doth know, out of the shade of death. 
What 'tis t' enjoy an everlasting breath ! 
To have her captived spirit freed from flesh, 
And on her innocence, a garment fresh 
And white as that put on : and in her hand 
With boughs of palm, a crowned victrice stand ! 

And will you. worthy son, sir, knowing this. 
Put black and mourning on? And say you miss 
A wife, a friend, a lady, or a love ; 
Whom her Redeemer honored hath above 
Her fellows, with the oil of gladness, bright 
In heaven's empire, and with a robe of light? 
Thither you hope to come ; and there to find 
That pure, that precious, and exalted mind 



UNDER WOODS. 455 

You once enjoyed; a short space severs ye, 

Compared unto tliat long eternity, 

That shall rejoin ye. Was she, then, so dear. 

When she dej^arted ? You will meet her there, 

Much more desired, and dearer than before, 

By all the wealth of blessings, and the store 

Accumulated on her, by the Lord 

Of life and light, the Son of God, the Word! 

There all the happy souls that ever were, 
Shall meet with gladness in one theater; 
And each shall know there one another's face, 
By beatific virtue of the place. 
There shall the brother w4th the sister walk, 
And sons and daughters with their parents talk: 
But all of God : they still shall have to say. 
But make him All in All, their Theme, that day; 
That haj^py day that never shall see night! 
Where he w411 be all beauty to the sight ; 
Wine or delicious fruits unto their taste; 
A music in the ears will ever last ; 
Unto the scent, a spicery or balm ; 
And to the touch, a flower like soft as palm. 
He will all glory, all jDerfection be, 
God in the Union, and the Trinity! 
That holy, great, and glorious mystery, 
Will there revealed be in majesty! 
By light and comfort of spiritual grace ; 
The vision of our Savior face to face 
In his humanity! To hear him preach 
The price of our redemption, and to teach 
Through his inherent righteousness, in death. 
The safety of our souls, and forfeit breath! 

What fulness of beatitude is here ! 
What love with mercy mixed doth appear, 
To style us friends who were by Nature foes 1 
Adopt us heirs by grace, wdio were of those 
Had lost ourselves, and prodigally spent 
Our native portions, and possessed rent! 
Yet have all debts forgiven us, and advance 
By imputed right to an inheritance 



456 BEN JONSON. 

In his eternal kingdom, where we sit 

Equal with angels, and co-heirs of it. 

Nor dare we under blasphemy conceive 

He that shall be our supreme judge, shall leave 

Himself so uninformed of his elect, 

Who knows the hearts of all, and can dissect 

The smallest fiber of our flesh ; he can 

Find all our atoms from a point t' a span; 

Our closest creeks and corners, and can trace 

Each line, as it were graphic, in the face. 

And best he knew her noble character, 

For 'twas himself who formed and gave it her. 

And to that form lent two such veins of blood, 

As Nature could not more increase the flood 

Of title in her! All nobility 

But pride, that schism of incivility, 

She had, and it became her ! She was fit 

T ' have known no envy, but by suffering it ! 

She had a mind as calm as she was fair ; 

Not tossed or troubled with the light lady-air, 

But kept an even gait, as some straight tree 

Moved by the wind, so comely moved she. 

And by the awful manage of her eye. 

She swayed all business in the family. 

To one she said. Do this, — he did it; so 

To another. Move, — he went; to a third, Go, — ■ 

He ran ; and all did strive with diligence 

T ' obey, and serve her sweet eommandements. 

She was in one a many parts of life ; 
A tender mother, a discreeter wife, 
A solemn mistress, and so good a friend, 
So charitable to a religious end 
.Tn all her petite actions, so devote. 
As her whole life was now become one note 
Of piety and private holiness. 
She spynt more time in tears herself to dress 
For her devotions, and those sad essays 
Of sorrow, than all pomp of gaudy days ; 
And came forth ever cheered with the rod 
Of divine comfort, when she had talked with God. 



UNDER WOODS. 457 

Her broken sighs did never miss whole sense, 

Nor can the bruised heart want eloquence: 

For prayer is the incense most perfumes 

The holy altars, when it least 2:)resumes. 

And hers were all humility! They beat 

The door of grace, and found the mercy-seat. 

In frequent speaking by the pious psalms 

Her solemn hours she spent, or giving alms, 

Or doing other deeds of charity. 

To clothe the naked, feed the hungry. She 

Would sit in an infirmary whole days 

Poring, as on a map, to find the waj-s 

To that eternal rest, where now she hath j^lace 

By sure election and predestined grace ! 

She saw her Savior, by an early light. 

Incarnate in the manger, shining bright 

On all the world ! She saw him on the cross 

Suffering and dying to redeem our loss : 

She saw him rise triumphing over death, 

To justify and quicken us in breath ; 

She saw him too in glory to ascend 

For his designed work, the perfect end 

Of raising, judging and rewarding all 

The kind of man, on whom his doom should fall! 

All this by faith she saw, and framed a plea 
In manner of a daily apostrophe. 
To him should be her judge,. true God, true Man, 
Jesus, the only-gotten Christ! Who can, 
As being redeemer and rejDairer too 
Of lapsed nature, best know what to do. 
In that great act of judgment, which the Father 
Hath given wholly to the Son (the rather 
As being the son of man) to show his power, 
His wisdom and his justice, in that hour, 
The last of hours, and shutter up of all; 
Where first his power will appear, by call 
Of all are dead to lite ; his wisdom show 
In the discerning of each conscience so; 
And most his justice, in the fitting parts, 
And giving dues to all mankind's deserts! 



458 BEN JONSOlf. 

In this sweet ecstasy slie was rapt lience. 
AVho reads, will pardon my intelligence. 
That thus have ventured these true strains upon, 
To publish her a saint. My muse is gone ! 

In pietatis memoriam 

Quavn prcestas 

Yenetioi tuce illustrissim. 

Marit. dign. Digiskik 

Hanc ' ALLO&EDjIEIN, tibi, hdsque sacro. 



[THE TENTH, 
Being her Inscription, or Crown, is lost] 



TO THE MOST NOBLE AND ABOVE HIS TITLES 

ROBERT, EARL OF SOMERSET.* 

They are not those are present with their face, 
And clothes, and gifts, that only do thee grace 
At these thy nuptials; but whose heart and thought 
Do wait upon thee ; and their lov e not bought. 

* These Hues are here published for the first time in an edition of Jon- 
son's poems. They were discovered in 1852, in the handwriting of the poet, 
signed "Ben Jonson,'' on a leaf of paper pasted upon the inner cover of a 
copy of his works, ed. 1640. with the foHowing memorandum by another 
band:— "These verses were made by tlie author ot this book, and were de- 
livered to the Earl of Somerset on liis wedding-day.' The volume bears 
on the outside covers the arms of tlie Eail ot Someiset. to whom it evi- 
dently belonged. The book afterwards came into tlie possession of the 
Hon.'Arcliibald Eraser, of Lovat ; and niion tlie sale of his library, in Feb- 
luary. 1852, it was purchased by the British Museum for £14. The occasion 
to which the verses refer determines the time when they were written — 
1613. Remembering the notoiious circumstances under which the marriage 
took place, this nuptial tribute is discreditable to Jonson, and contrasts 
painfully with those noble addresses to the Aubigny.s, the Sidneys, the 
Butlands, and other distinguished persons, in which he again and again 
reiterates in a hundred varieties of exjuession that theie is "nothing great 
but what is good." Throughout the whole class to whom such panegyrics 
■were inscribed, two worse exaniiiles of the worst vices could not have been 
selected for the prostitution of a poet's iien. than Somerset and Lady Essex. 
Lady Frances Howard was married at thirteen to the Earl of Essex, who, 
being onlv fourteen, was sent on his travels while the lady remained at 
court. Dining this period she formed her connection with Somerset. Upon 
lier husband's return she sued out a divorce, under a false pretext, to en- 
able her to nianv her paramour; and it was for advising Somerset against 
this mairiaue she planned the murder ofOverbury. She and Somerset 
were afterwards tried on the confessions of their accomplices, and con- 
demned to death, from which just sentence they were spared only to an 
existence of ignimiiuy and wretchedness. The gross adulation of these 
lines came with a specially bad giace from Jonson, who wrote his Masque 
of Hymen for the first marriage of Lady Essex, and who should have be<^n 
admonished bv the miserable issue of that union to abstain from further 
praises of the'lady. Gifford, indeed, who never saw these verses, is so con- 
fident ot Jonson's virtue, that he applauds him for not having taken any 
part in the second marriage. 



UNDERWOODS. 459 

Sucli wear true wedding robes, and are true firiends, 

That bid, God give thee joy, and have no ends! 

AVliich I do, early, virtuous Somerset, 

And pray, thy loves as lasting be, as great; 

Not only this, but every day of thine 

AVith the same look, or with a better shine ; 

Mav she, whom thou for spouse to-day dost take, 

Out-be that wife, in worth, thy friend did make; 

And thou to her, that husband, may exalt 

Hymen's amends, to make it worth his fault, 

So be there never discontent, or sorrow 

To rise with either of you on the morrow: 

So be your concord still as deep as mute. 

And every joy in marriage turn a fruit ; 

So may thy marriage pledges comforts prove, 

And every birth increase the heat of love ; 

So in their number may you never see 

Mortality, till you immortal be; .... ^;^ 

And when your years rise more than would be tolcl. 

Yet neither of you seem to the other old, 

ThjJt all that view you then and late may say, 

Sure this glad pair were married but this day. 




460 BEK JOKSON. 

LEGES CONVIVIALES/ 
Quod fcdix fai(sti(})tqHC conviris in Apolline sit. 

1. MEMO ASYMBOLUS, NISI UMBRA, HUC VENITO. 

2. IDIOTA, INSULUS, TRISTIS, TURPIS, ABESTO. 

3. ERUDITI, URBANI, HILARES, HOXESTI, ADSCISCUNTOR. 

4. NEC LECTiE FCEMIN.^ REPUDIANTOR. 

5. IN APPARATU QUOD CONVIVIS CORRUGET NARES NIL ESTO. 

6. EPUL.^ DELECTU POTIUS QUAM SUMPTU PARANTOR. 

7. OBSONATOR ET COQUUS CONVIVARUM GUL^ PERITI SUNTO. 

8. DE DISCUBII^U NON CONTENDITOR. 

9. MINISTRI A DAPIBUS, OCCULATI ET MUTI, 

A POCULIS, AURITI ET CELERES SUNTO. 

10. VINA PURIS FONTIBUS MINISTRENTOR AUT VAPULET HOSPES. 

11. MODERATIS POCULIS PROVOCARE SODALES FAS ESTO. 

12. AT FABULIS MAGIS QUAM VINO VELITATIO FIAT. 

13. CONVIV.E NEC MUTI NEC LOQUACES SUNTO. 

14. DE SERIIS AC SACRIS POTI ET SATURI NE DISSERUNTO. 

* The following is the old translation of these celebrated canons ot cou- 
vivialitv : — 

EULES FOR THE TaVERN ACADEMY, 

Or, Laws for the Beaux Esi'uits. 
From the Latin of Ben Joiison, engraven in marble over the chimney, in 
the Apollo of the Old Devil Tavern, at Temple Bar,— that being Jonson'* 
clubroom. ^r^^ verbum reddere verbo. 

I. 

1. As the fund of our pleasnie, let each pay his shot, 
Except some chance friend, whom a member brings in. 

2. Far hence be the sad. the lewd fop, and tiie sot; 
For such have the plagues of good companj' been. 

II. 

3. Let the learned and witty, the jovial and gay, 
The generous and honest, compose our free state; 

4. And the more to exalt our delight while we stay, 
Let none be debarred from his choice female mate. 

III. 

5. Let no scent wfifensive the ch.iraber infest. 

6. Let fancy, not cost, prepaie all oui- dishes. 

7. Let the caterei' mind the taste of each guest. 

And the cook, in iiis diL-ssing, comi»ly with their wishes. 

IV. 

8. Let's have no disturbance about taking places. 
To show your nice breeding, or out of vain piide. 

9. Let the drawers be ready with wine and fresh glasses. 

Let the waiters have eyes, though their tongues must be tied, 

V. 

10. Let our wines without mixture or stum, be all fine, 
Or call up the master, and break his dull noddle. 

11. Let no sober bigot here think it a sin 

To push on the chirping and moderate bottle. 

VI. 

12. Let the contests be rather of books than of wine. 

13. Let tlip coinitany he neithei- noisy nor mute. 

14. Let none of things serious, much less of divine, 
When bel'y and heart's full, profanely dispute. 



UNDERWOODS. 461 

I'v FIDIOEN, NISI ACCERSITUS, NON VENITO. 

16. ADMISSO KISU, TRIPUUIIS, CHOREIS, CANTU, CELEBRANTOR. 

71. JOCI SINE FELLE SUXTO. 

18. INSIPIDA POEMATA NULLA RECITANTOR. 

I'J. VERSUS SCRIBERE NULLUS COGITOR. 

20. ARGUMENTATIONIS TOTIUS STREPITUS ABESTO. 

21. AMATORIIS QUERELIS, AC SUSPIRIIS LIBER ENGULUS ESTO. 

22. LAPITHARUM MORE SCYPHIS PUGXARE, VITREA COLLIDERE. 

FENESTRAS EXCUTERE, SUPELLECTILEM DILACERARE 
NEFAS ESTO. 

23. QUI FORAS VEL DICTA, YEL FACTA ELIMINET, ELIMINATOR. 

24. NEMINEM REUM POCULA FACIUNTO. 

FOCUS PERENNIS ESTO. 

VII. 

15. Let no .«iaucy fiddler pi-esunie to iiitnule, 
TJiile.s.s he is sent tor to vary oiir bliss. 

16. AVitli jiiirtli. wit, and daiieiii!r. and siiij:iii<j: conclude, 
To regale every sense, witli delight in excess. 

VIII. 

17. Let raillery be witliout malice or heat. 

18. UuU poems to read let none privilege take. 

19. Let no poetaster command or entreat 
Another extempore veises to make. 

IX. 

20. Let argument bear no nnmnsical sound. 

iSToi- jars interpose, sacied tViendshij) to grieve. 

21. For generous lovers let a corner be found, 
"Where they in soft sighs may tlieir passions relieve. 

X. 

22. Like the old La]>ithites. with the goblets to figlit, 
(^;r own 'mongst offenses unpardoned will lank, 
Or breaking of window.s. or gla.sses. foi- sjiite, 
And spoiling the goods for a rakehelly prank. 

XT. 

23. Whoever .shall publish what's said, or what's dona 
Ee he banished forever our assembly divine. 

24. Let the freedom we take be ]>erverted by nouQ 
To make any guilty by driniung good wine. 

The Old Devil Tavern, so called to distinguish it from a neighboring hos. 
telry called the Young Devil Tavern, stood on ihat spot close to Temple 
Bar, which is now occupied by Child's Banking-House. The Apollo was 
the great room of the tavern in which, liice that of the Will's and Button's 
of a later day, the wits as.sembled to hold their convivial meetings, ovei' 
■which, by undisputed authority, Jonson reigned supreme. The rules of 
the club, as stated in the introduction to the tian.slation, were engraved in 
marble over the chimney-piece ; and the veises by Jon.son over the entrance 
to the room were printed in gold letters on a black gi'ound. surmounted by 
a l)ust of Apollo. The bust and the veises are now in the jiosses.sion of 
M(\s.srs. Child. The room was furnished with a gallery for music, and was 
frequently used for balls. Tlie old sign of the tavern, which stood nearly 
opposite to St. Duustau's Church, represented St. Duustan puiiiug the Devil 
by the nose. 



462 



BEN JONSON. 



VERSES 

PLACED OVER THE DOOR AT THE ENTRANCE INTO THE APOLLU 

Welcome all who lead or follow 

To the Oracle of Apollo, — 

Here he speaks out of his pottle, 

Or the tripos, his tower bottle : 

All his answers are divine. 

Truth itself doth flow in wine. 

Hang up all the poor hop-drinkers, 

Cries old Sim, the king of skinkers ;* 

He the half of life abuses, 

That sits watering with the Muses. 

Those dull girls no good can mean us: 

Wine it is the milk of Venus, 

And the poet's horse accounted: 

Ply it, and you all are mounted. 

'Tis the true Phoebian liquor. 

Cheers the brains, makes wit the quicker, 

Pays all debts, cures all diseases, 

And at once the senses pleases. 

Welcome all who lead or follow. 

To the Oracle of Apollo. 

* Simon Wadloe, who then kept the Devil Tavern ; and of him, probably, 
is the old catch, beginnintr, "Old Sir Simon the Kinrr." — W. 
'Skinker" is an old term for a man who served liquors. 




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